Dark Defense
by kyugan
Summary: Before Fudge can appoint Dolores Umbridge as the new DADA Professor, Dumbledore seeks out a candidate of his own. And after all, the best tutors against the Dark Arts are those who are Dark themselves… 5th Year
1. Chapter 1

Considering the impressive, albeit mixed comments people have made regarding this little piece of work, I've decided to throw caution to the wind and see where it takes us.

And so, like so many others out there, here is my rendition of Harry Potter's Fifth Year of Hogwarts, only with a Professor that most certainly ISN'T someone the Ministry and Fudge can boss around.

I almost feel sorry for Umbridge…and if you believe that, I've a realm to sell you.

* * *

Dark Defense

Deal with a Devil

It was always raining this time of year in the United Kingdom, so much so that many people would hold off on any big plans simply out of habit. This was especially true for Scotland, a fact that many would consider a right pain in the arse, were it not for the fact that, being used to the weather, they found means of occupying themselves.

But for the secret wizarding society the rain was in fact a double blessing, as it not only allowed the various witches and wizards to go about their regular routines whilst their muggle neighbors stayed indoors, but it kept those nosy researchers away from the various magical sites that littered the higlands, most notably the Hogwarts grounds, as the area around the castle forest was renowned for it's landslides in fierce weather.

True the muggle-repelling charms helped, especially on those annoying hikers that just wouldn't take a bloody hint and feck off, but nothing kept nosy parkers away than Mother Nature when she was in a bad mood.

It was at this time that we turn our attention to the wizarding school itself, or more specifically, towards a single, solitary light that shone from a window near the top of one of the castle's lofty towers. Behind this window was a room, more specifically an office, and within said office, looking out into the rain with an unreadable expression in his normally twinkling blue eyes, was the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengammot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and quite possibly the most powerful British Wizard alive, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

If the lack of his trademark twinkle in his eyes weren't hint enough to the Headmaster's state of mind, the fact that his pet phoenix and loyal companion, Fawkes, was crooning softly from his perch at the back of the room, should have made it amply clear that Dumbledore was NOT in a good mood.

The reason for this was Fudge, and we're not talking about the addictively delicious treat either, but rather the bowler sporting minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge, who was proving most unreasonable of late.

The little twat, despite years of sucking up to Dumbledore, badgering him at all hours of the day for advice, refused to see that Tom Riddle, or as the lad preferred to be known: Lord Voldemort, had returned from his near death experience, apparently stronger than ever and eagre to pick up where he left off, namely 'purging' the wizarding world of the 'impurity' of muggles and muggle-borns. Apparently there was a running pattern for would be dictators.

Fudge was so far in denial that he'd had the audacity to have Albus' rank of Chief Warlock of the wizengammot stripped from him, apparently taking on the title for himself despite the protests of more than a few members. However, not even the Minister of Magic could outrank the clout Dumbledore had with the other members, not for lack of trying mind you, which is why the professor had been able to attend the supposed 'trial' of one Harry James Potter, otherwise known as 'The Boy Who Lived', scant seconds before Fudge could pull any tricks.

Not that you could call it a trial, in fact, had Dumbledore been as loathe to address it as anything other than a farce, he would have called the proceedings a proverbial 'Witch Hunt'. Young Harry had been hauled up on charges of illegal use of magic in front of a muggle, his own cousin no less, a crime that many a wizard would have been heavily punished for, but for an underage student, was indeed most grim.

The fact that Harry had apparently fended off a pack of Dementors had mostly been scoffed at, after all everyone KNEW the despicable creatures were in the Ministry's employ, though the fact the boy could perform a corporeal patronus, and had demonstrated as such to Alice Bones, had made several would be condemers reconsider their verdict. Fudge, of course, wanted nothing more than to have Harry expelled from Hogwarts, doubtlessly believing that by removing the boy from Dumbledore's 'care', he'd be of better use to the ministry.

Fortunately, the plan had, predictably, fallen through, as Dumbledore had merely had to set foot in the court room to remind the insolent little bureaucrat who was top dog. Not that this brought the professor any real form of pleasure mind you.

Well, admittedly it HAD been a real treat to watch Fudge stew in his impotency while he'd led Harry out of the proceedings, but such matters paled in comparison to the dilemma the professor now faced. For while the attempt to discredit Harry could be swept subtly under the carpet, the fact that Hogwarts STILL hadn't been able to locate a creditable Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was not so easy to cover up.

It had been a long-standing tradition that, should a candidate not be found to fill in for a professor, the Ministry would supply one until such time that a replacement could be found. Ordinarily Albus would have accepted this without question, but ordinarily he would have had Fudge wrapped around his little finger, and thus could have selected the candidates from amongst the Auror Corps.

As it stood however, Dumbledore had a pretty good hunch as to whom Fudge would send to Hogwarts, and the idea of allowing the woman in question, who had slithered her way into the ministry through use of blackmail and the overused 'Imperius Legislation', into a position of authority, rankled the headmaster's beard. And considering the length of the Professor's facial hair, that was quite a knot to untangle.

"Ah Fawkes…" the aged magician muttered, gazing out the sole office window into the relentless storm with a sigh "It is indeed dire times we find ourselves in. Not only do I find myself trying to think three steps ahead of Tom, but now I must think a step ahead of Fudge and his lackeys, not to mention keeping an eye on young Harry."

He stared out into the rain for a few minutes, his face a mask of grim discomfort, only to break the façade as lip lip quirked in a smile. "I haven't had this much fun in years." He admitted with a chuckle, a familiar twinkle returning to his eyes as Fawkes trilled in agreement behind him.

But fun and games aside, having Dolores Umbridge take up the position of DADA professor was NOT something Dumbledore was willing to accept without a fight, especially if he wanted Harry prepared for the upcoming challenges. He'd seen the book list that the woman had requested, and there was nothing in there that hadn't already been covered or discarded as bunk in first year, clearly an attempt to discredit the school, and Albus by proxy from the inside. Quite frankly the only way Harry could use the ministry assigned books against Tom was if he chucked one at the man's head.

The problem was that while Fudge was undoubtedly an incompetent, kowtowing bureaucrat, too desperate to hold onto his delusions of grandeur and the seat of power he'd only received because Dumbledore didn't like being in the spotlight, he was STILL the Minister of Magic, and as such could see to it that all of the possible candidates for the position were either occupied or on the ministry's payroll. It didn't help that many believed the position was cursed, especially with Hogwarts' track record for going through an new professor per term.

'How ironic that the professors that have contributed the MOST to Harry's education against the Dark Arts have been a Werewolf and a Death Eater…' The professor mused, shaking his head at the irony of Bart Grouch Jr. teaching his master's enemy spells that could wind up killing Tom one day. The REAL Alastor would have never taught the students anything so dangerous 'Why if I didn't know any better I'd suspect the only ones that can teach are those that are dark themsel-!'

He trailed off, his silvery brow furrowing as an epiphany struck with the force of a reductor curse. Turning his back on the driving rain, a quick charm drawing the curtains shut, the aged professor began to pace before his desk, Fawkes following his movements with interest.

'Would it work?' he wondered, his blue eyes deadly serious as he stroked his moustaches in thought, his half moon spectacles glinting in the firelight 'One the one hand I would be absolutely certain that Fudge has no sway over them,'he grimaced suddenly 'but on the other, fact remains they aren't the type to listen to ANYONE.' He snorted, wry amusement visible in his eyes at some distant memory 'Just like their mother really…' he chuckled, only to shake his head with a frown to get back on track.

'But which one would be best suited?' he muttered, resuming his pacing as he ran over what little he knew of the men in question 'True the younger is more inclined to the light, but his methods and mannerism are far too muggle for him to be accepted…' he frowned suddenly 'and as for the elder…were it not for his indifferent stand towards people in general I wouldn't be surprised if he usurped Voldemort at some point.'

'However,' he noted, stroking his moustache again as he paused in thought 'Unlike his brother, the elder one has ambition…' he turned his eyes towards his bookcase 'and like any ambition, he needs the right tools to obtain it…'

Decision made, Albus walked to his desk, magically summoning a sheet of parchment and an inkwell out of thin air as he set about drafting a letter to the man, he hoped, would be willing to meet with him to discuss the possibility of taking up the DADA position.

He kept the letter formal, but to the point, as while the man was loathe to beat around the bush, he still demanded a certain level of respect and caution in any conversation, and it wouldn't do to unintentionally agravate him.

Signing the letter with his usual, curled signature and promptly sealing the envelope with a drop of wax and the Hogwarts stamp, the aged Headmaster set about casting the usual delivery charm over the address, usually reserved for Hogwarts acceptance letters, before entrusting the letter to Fawkes, who vanished with a flash of fire to deliver it.

"Now all I can do is wait." He sighed, popping a lemon drop into his mouth and sucking away happily at the bitter-sweet confectionary, his hands clasped over his stomach as he leant back in his large, comfortable chair, already formulating the next gauntlet to lay before young harry. "Hmm…perhapse a little…jealous motivation?" he wondered, turning his eyes to the list of new Prefects that were to be appointed this year, more specifically the Gryffindor and Slytherin names.

* * *

In a dark, deserted street...

A man paused in his step, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he looked up, his hand moving steadily towards his hip as he eyed a particular patch of air before him.

A sudden flash of fire, preceded by an even more sudden flash of steel, was followed by a cut-off squawk of shocked indignation, even as the flames vanished, great gouts of ash dropping to the floor at the man's feet, a small envelope fluttering down to land on top of it.

Intrigued, the man knelt, picking the dusty missive from the ashes, quirking an eyebrow at the irate peeps that erupted from the infantile phoenix, before turning the letter over, his eyes narrowing as he espied the unusual address, which listed not only his name, but his exact coordinates, right down to the the lampost he was standing next to.

"What the hell?" he muttered, slitting the envelope and withdrawing the contents, ignoring the irate peeps of the phoenix with a detached air as he skimmed over the contents "Interesting…"

It had not even been a full day since the Prefect letters had been posted out with the Hogwarts book lists when Dumbledore, who had retreated to the sanctity of his office after yet ANOTHER attempt to make Fudge see sense, was roused from his nap…MEDITATION, by heavy footfalls, so heavy they actually caused the dust of centuries past to fall from the ceiling, coming up the corridor to his office.

* * *

Hogwarts, several days later...

"Come in, Hagrid." the professor called out, sending a wandless alohomora to open the door, revealing Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper, dressed in his usual moleskin overcoat, one hand raised in the act of knocking on the door.

"I'll never figure out 'ow you do that professor." The half-giant muttered, his face, what little was visible behind his mane of black hair and beard, lined with shocked awe as he stooped under the archway "Didn't even 'ave ter say the password."

"My dear Hagrid," Dumbledore chuckled, smiling at the good natured, if socially inept groundskeeper with the air of an amused grandparent "have I not always said my door is always open for those I trust?"

Hagrid blushed behind his beard, nodding his head in agreement in a manner reminiscent of when he'd been a student himself. Dumbledore had been looking out for Hagrid since the latter's expulsion, his unfair expulsion at that, mainly by seeing to it that the half-giant's occasional use of magic, despite his wand being snapped, was swept aside.

"Be that as it may," the professor stated, looking up at the larger man, his silvery brow quirked as he leveled an inquisitve stare at him "is there a reason you've come to see me?"

"Well…" Hagrid muttered, shifting uneasily from foot to foot as he looked over his shoulder at something that was blocked by his considerable bulk from the headmaster's sight "There's someone 'ere to see yer professor, say's he's got business with yer or summat."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore asked, internally breathing a sigh of relief that Hagrid wasn't trying to 'adopt' another of the numerous horrors from the forbidden forest, before quirking an eyebrow in interest "Would he happen to be a man of regal standing and appearance?"

"The same sir…" Hagrid admitted, nodding his head in awe of the headmaster's deduction skills "Dressed in silk and lookin' like…" he twitched slightly "Begin' yer pardon sir but he looks like a Malfoy that got of his arse and did an honest days work."

"I don't believe I came here so that my appearance could be criticized." a cold, decidedly regal tone pointed out, the suddeness of it startling Hagrid enough that he actually jumped, causing several of Dumbledore's desk ornaments to fall to the floor with a crash, rousing several of the former headmasters' portraits from their slumber. "If you called me here to waste my time…"

"I assure you I have not." Dumbledore spoke up, standing from behind his desk as Hagrid stepped aside to admit the speaker into the office, the professor nodding at the half-giant in thanks "Please come in, thank you for escorting him Hagrid."

Hagrid nodded and left without a word, eager to get away from the mysterious young man that, despite being dressed like a noble, inspired a type of terror in the half-giant that not even the fiercest of forest creatures could match.

"Quite a menagerie of freaks you've assembled here." The man noted, his head turned slightly to the side as he listened to the half-giant's massive footfalls recede "I had a most interesting time getting here through the forests, you DO know that Acromantulas have established a colony on your doorstep?"

"Hagrid may have mentioned it at some point…" Dumbledore admitted, his eyes twinkling in a manner that made it clear the younger man wasn't getting anything else out of him.

"I see." The man noted, his tone making it clear that he really could care less, as if the question had been a test of sorts, before walking over to a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, his movements speaking of a catlike grace. It even showed in the way he sat, making it so his clothes would not wrinkle, but to all outside purposes he put no effort into doing so.

"I believe THIS is yours." The man noted, extending a hand, in which rested a bundled hankerchief towards the headmaster, who accepted it only to find an irate, infant Fawkes glaring deadily up at him "Your pet startled me, were he not a phoenix I'd have already buried him for you."

"Blessed be for small mercies." Dumbledore chuckled, stroking Fawke's head soothingly as he carried the mollified chick to his perch/nest, carefully removing any stains from the man's hankerchief with a charm before returning it "Am I to assume then, that in coming here you are, at least, interested in my proposal?"

"Perhaps." The man suggested, leaning back in his chair and meeting Dumbledore's eyes with his own, the headmaster's blue eyes latching onto the th steel-like blue of his guest unflinchingly "Though quite frankly I highly doubt the 'information' you claimed to possess is worth the hassle of babysitting a bunch of snot-nosed, would-be wand wavers."

"Yout suspicions do you credit." Dumbledore applauded, his tone polite, though not without his usual amiability as he walked towards his considerable bookcase "I cannot say I did not anticipate it, which is why I took the liberty of bringing this as proof."

The man quirked an eyebrow at the small, purple tome the headmaster extracted from amongst the vast collection on display. It was old, if the styling of the cover and the coloring of the parchment were any indication, but other than that was virtually unimpressive.

"Please," Dumbledore offered, setting the book on the desk before him and resuming his seat, his hands steepled before him "Consider it a down-payment, in good faith."

The man said nothing, but nontheless picked up the book, turning it over idly in his hands, before opening it to the first page. He stiffened suddenly, his eyes locked onto the text written there with an intensity that could have easily burned a hole through the back of the tome.

"I've had several people look over it to validate it's authenticity." Dumbledore informed the man, though wether he was heard was up to debate, as his guest did not react to his voice "The text is clearly Infernal in nature, though the book and ink itself are of muggle origin."

"Where did you get this?" the younger man demanded, his steely blue eyes shifting their focus from the book he held in his hand, the other drifting slowly to the side of his chair, where his weapon rested in it's sheath "Where?"

"I shall be glad to tell you." Dumbledore admitted, smiling serenely at the visibly incensed young man, his eyes twinkling in silent victory "All I ask is that you teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class this year. Do this, and I shall gladly tell you of where I came across that particular piece of text."

* * *

Start of the term...

Harry James Potter sighed as he sat at the Gryfindor table, waiting for the first years to finish being sorted so that he could get a decent meal before heading off to bed.

So far his fifth year as a wizard was NOT going so well. First he and Dudley had almost had their souls sucked out by Dementors, forcing him to summon a patronus despite the law against underage-magic. As a result of this, he'd been hauled up before the wizengamot, the wizarding court, where Corenlius 'couldn't find his arse with both hands and the four-point spell' Fudge had done everything in his power to have him expelled.

The only good thing that had come of the whole affair was that he'd gotten out from under the Dursley's eyes a little earlier than he'd expected, spending the rest of the summer at the ancestral home of his outlaw Godfather, Sirius Black, who he'd missed terribly despite keeping in regular owl-contact. Though the moment had been ruined somewhat when, despite everything he'd done, despite all the trials he'd faced, despite proving time and time again his loyalty to the ideals of Gryfindor, Dumbledore had passed him up for the position of prefect.

Not even the fact that Ron and Hermione, his best friends of five years and counting, had been appointed prefects could improve the boy-who-lived's mood, as Draco Malfoy, his sworn enemy of five years and counting, had been appointed prefect of Slytherin, meaning the pureblood prick could make his life hell with the backing of the faculty.

Not that Harry believed for one minute that the professors, most notably Minerva Mcgonagall, would believe the little ponce over him, but Malfoy happened to be on good terms with Severus Snape, who seemed to have it out for Harry simply because he hated the boy's father. It didn't help that, with the exception of his eyes, Harry was the spitting image of the late James Potter.

But now, just as he was resigning himself to a year that would doubtles be as hectic as all the others combined, he'd spotted a familiar, unpleasant face amongst the faculty members, one that he'd last seen sitting at Fudge's right during his hearing, like some bloated bullfrog in a tacky sweater.

All conversation in the great hall came to a halt as Dumbledore stood, his arms stretched wide as if to embrace every student, new and old, welcoming them all once more and for the first time to the most magical place in Britain.

"To our newcomers: Welcome!" the aged professor greeted, his beaming smile soothing the feelings of bitterness in Harry's heart as he looked up at the man "And to our old hands: Welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

Quite frankly, Harry wouldn't have minded another long winded speech, the sorting hat's alone had given them all a lot to think of, and anything that could keep him from having to watch Ron gorge himself like a pig was always a plus.

He might be Harry's best friend, but you couldn't have paid the boy who lived to put his hand near the redhead's plate at that moment for fear of losing a finger or three. That, and it was rather disgusting to have to keep wiping chunks of potatoe and other vegetables off his robes when the Weasley teen made the mistake of talking with his mouth full.

Thankfully, the meal ended in due course, the assorted plates vanishing as the house elves whisked them away without setting foot in the grand hall, even as Dumbledore again stood up to address them, running through the usual 'stay out of the forest' speech and once again pointing out that the caretaker, Argus Filch, a sour old Squib that stalked the hallways looking for students to punish, had placed a list of contraband goods on his door which mostly consisted of anything that could be classified as 'fun'.

"We have had two new changes in staffing this year." The headmaster pointed out, nodding his head down the staff table "We are pleased to welcome back professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons." There was a scattering of applause, more enthusiastic from the female students, who hadn't forgotten the time the woman had introduced them to Unicorns. "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor is running a little late, but assures me that he will be here before the end of the day. Tryouts for the Quidditch teams will take place on the…"

Harry blinked, looking up in interest as Dumbledore's voice suddenly halted mid-speech, his eyes widening as the toadlike woman, Dolores Umbridge, stood up from her chair, drawing looks of surprise from the students. These looks paled in comparison to the looks the staff levelled at her, ranging from Professor Sprout's look of shock to Professor McGonagal's thinly pressed lip, a clear sign of ire in the reserved witch. Harry also caught Snape levelling a glare that he'd thought only applied to HIM at the woman, a look of disgust, as if the Potion's Master had stepped in something particularly nasty.

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore spoke up, apparently unbothered by the woman's audacity at interrupting him, though the jovialness of his tone didn't match his eyes "May I also introduce Dolores Umbridge, a representative of the Ministry of Magic who will he overseeing the year as a sign of good faith between Hogwarts and the Ministry."

Silence reigned in the hallway, as if Umbridge was waiting for a round of applause at her introduction. When none came she cleared her throat, an amiable smile on her face that belied the slight scowl that had adorned it seconds before "Thank you, Headmaster," she offered, her voice breathy and decidedly fake "for those warm words of welcome." She cleared her throat again and addressed the audience"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts I must say!" she smiled, revealing a mouth filled with decidedly pointy teeth "And to see such happy little faces looking up at me-!"

The doors to the great hall slammed open with such force that Professor Flitwick, the charms master, let out a squeak and fell off his chair, everyone in the hall turning round, eyes widening in surprise as they gaped at the figure that stood there.

The man in the doorway was dressed in a long, gold trimmed coat, under which he wore a dark leather shirt and waist coat. His equally dark leggings were trimmed to his tall, lithe frame, and tucked neatly into his black riding boots.

He had a regal, almost noble air about him, as he looked over the assembled wizards and witches with his cold, steel-like blue eyes, his white hair, swept back over his head, shining in the candle light as he looked up at the staff table, his eyes coming to rest on Dumbledore.

Silence reigned in the grand hall as the two men looked upon one another, neither breaking the other's gaze. Then the stranger nodded, walking through the doors towards the staff table, Harry's eyes widening as he espied the sword, a katana he realised from one of Dudley's old video-games, the stranger held in his left hand.

The man walked down the aisles, heedless of the looks of confused awe he was receiving from the students, until he'd reached the steps leading up to the staff table, climbing them at the same sedate, but purposeful pace as before, until he reached the top and was standing before Dumbledore.

"Ah, welcome." The Headmaster greeted, smiling amiably at the yonger man, holding out a hand for them to shake, which the latter accepted after a moment's silence "Please, take a seat."

The man said nothing, but did as he was asked, taking a seat between McGonagal and Dumbledore himself, leaning his weapon against the table despite the disaproving look it received from the Transfiguration Mistress.

"Well it seems that another introduction is in order." Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling in merriment as Umbridge, her thunder effectively stolen by the arrival of the man, resumed her seat with a huff, looking absolutely indignant "Students, allow me to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Vergil."

* * *

Once again, for those asking, this is set BEFORE the events of DMC3, during the year between the last time the brother's Sparda saw one another and Vergil encountering Arkham in the demonic library.

Expect copious amounts of Umbridge and Slytherin bashing, as Vergil isn't the type to let incompetents have their way.

R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

Since most of you have no doubt already read the previous chapter in my Oneshot corner, I've gone ahead and put up chapter two.

In this, Hogwarts and Vergil get better acquainted, and Umbridge soon learns she has little to no leverage with the new DADA Professor.

Enjoy!

* * *

Professor Vergil.

"Well now," Dumbledore called out, as it was apparent after a few seconds that there wasn't likely to be any fanfare for the new arrival "I can see a few of you are beginning to lag, so I dare say it's time for bed. Off you trot!"

The students, still reeling from the sudden arrival of their new DADA Professor, were hesitant to leave until the prefects began to round them up, though the Gryffindors had a bit of a late start, as Hermione had to remind a gob-smacked Ron that THEY were the prefects this year.

Harry, who was marveling at how small the first years were, refusing to believe, even in his malnourished past, that he'd ever been that small, felt his amusement wither and die as they gaped at him in something akin to horrified fascination, like he was some sort of rare, savage animal that had gotten off it's chain. Standing abruptly, he bid a dull farewell to the occupied Hermione and Ron, before making his way up to Gryffindor tower, wanting nothing more than to get into bed and go to sleep, too exhausted to care what others thought of him at that moment.

It appeared that even here, in one of the few places he'd felt at home, if not entirely safe, Fudge still managed to make his life hell. The rumors of his grand-standing, his so called 'cries for attention', regarding the return of Voldemort the year prior, had infected even the first years, jading their opinion of him and, undoubtedly, giving those back-stabbing serpents in Slytherin a right laugh.

As he got up to leave, he unintentionally looked up at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who was, surprisingly, sipping a goblet of what appeared to be wine with an air of elegance, thoroughly ignoring the looks of annoyance being sent his way from Dolores Umbridge, who was looking increasingly more Toad-like in comparison.

As if somehow sensing the eyes upon him, the white haired man's eyes snapped open, the steel-blue orbs locking onto Harry's brilliant green, the last Potter realizing with a start that he couldn't bring himself to look away.

Harry blinked and the moment passed, looking up only to find the blue-clad Professor turning to address Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to be in decidedly good spirits this evening, though judging by the reserved look on the man's face, it was apparent Dumbledore was doing most of the talking.

"Harry? You alright mate?" Ron asked, sidling up next to his friend with a horde of Gryffindor first years in tow, the little wizards and witches whispering amongst themselves as they looked up at the iconic 'Boy Who Lived' with mixed emotions.

"Just a little tired." Harry assured the redhead, looking the first years over and smiling tiredly despite his earlier disgust, earning a few shy smiles in return "Was just heading off."

"I'll come with you." Ron suggested, tilting his head towards the doors "Hermione's already led her group off, I'm just picking up the stragglers."

Harry would have refused had he not been struck with a sudden feeling of fatigue, and so was forced to tag along while Ron gave the First Years the tour of the path to Gryffindor tower, often pointing out a few oddities that he didn't remember Percy mentioning along the way. One of the first years, a short little girl in oversized robes, stumbled slightly over the hem and would have crashed face first into the staircase had Harry not gently grabbed her shoulder.

"Easy there." He offered, helping her back to her feet and dusting her down with a gentle, tired smile "Might want to turn your robes up a bit, ask Hermione, she'll sort you out."

The girl blushed and nodded, skipping off towards a group of her friends, who promptly began whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

'Well at least there's ONE thing Fudge hasn't been able to corrupt.' The last Potter muttered, watching in wry amusement as the girls ran off to catch up with the rest 'Fangirls.'

* * *

_With Vergil..._

"This is to be your room." Professor McGonagall stated primly, opening the room to a modest-sized bedchamber that doubled as an office "I apologize for the lack of décor, but with our running through Defense Professors on a yearly basis…"

"It is understandable." Vergil assured the Deputy Headmistress, casting an evaluative eye over the semi-bare, almost Spartan really, living quarters, his nostril twitching as he caught the faint scent of garlic and hair care products lingering in the air "I take it that each professor furnishes their quarters to their individual tastes?"

"Indeed." McGonagall agreed, scowling slightly in distaste at the memory of Gilderoy Lockhart's decidedly gaudy decorations when he'd roomed here "It is our privilege, but I must ask that you let us know before bringing anything that may prove dangerous onto school grounds."

Vergil didn't miss the look she cast towards Yamato but chose not to say anything on the manner. What did it matter to him if she disapproved of his carrying a weapon on his person? In the right hands, a wand could prove as deadly as any sword, and in truly capable hands even more so. Though in Vergil's opinion, there was nothing that could compare to the swift, silken death that Yamato could deliver in his hands.

'Nothing…except for HIS sword.' He corrected, his features darkening slightly as he recalled the texts he'd read in the book Dumbledore had offered as a down-payment that day 'The power of that blade…'

"Well then, I shall bid you good night." The woman, McGonagall he recalled, called out from the doorway "If you need anything, please feel free to contact the house elves with the bell on the mantle."

Vergil said nothing as she left him, apparently lost in thought as he looked over the semi-bare chamber, noting with interest that not only was it devoid of dust, but there was a fire blazing away in the hearth. "House elves, eh?" he muttered, walking towards the hearth and picking up the small, plain looking bell that had been placed on the mantle, giving it the smallest of rings.

"You called, sir?" a polite, submissive voice squeaked out from behind, only to shriek as Vergil whipped round, holding the edge of Yamato at the creature's throat "S-Sir?"

"You startled me." Vergil stated, looking down at the rather unimpressive, bat-eared creature with cold, merciless blue eyes "If you wish to keep your head in future, I suggest you refrain from doing so in the future."

"P-Pollux will keep that in m-mind, s-sir." The house elf stammered, trembling like a leaf under the man's cold stare, only to sigh in relief as the blade was withdrawn from his throat.

"Pollux, was it?" Vergil repeated, looking over the trembling elf as he sheathed Yamato, drawing it out deliberately to remind the elf he still hadn't completely done so "Are you the elf assigned to this room?"

"No sir." Pollux countered, shaking his head hurriedly, causing his ears to flap audibly against the sides of his head "We is always taking turns sir, if one of us is seeing a mess, we is tidying it, unless specifically ordered."

"Well from now on you are to consider yourself under my servitude." Vergil stated, his tone making it clear that there would be no refuting this order "Only you are to attend to this room, and you will come when I call you. Understood?"

"P-Pollux understands, sir." The elf agreed, bowing his head in submission, altogether not that surprised at the turn of events. Truth be told, this wasn't the first time in Hogwarts history that a professor had asked for a personal valet from amongst the house elves, the former Professor Slughorn had enlisted several to wait on him in days gone past, and even McGonagall often found some task for them to do when she was overworked.

The only notable exceptions, surprisingly, had been Remus Lupin and Severus Snape, the former because he was not the type that was comfortable having other people do his chores for him, and the other because he valued his privacy and trusted no-one in his personal quarters, not even the Headmaster. Alastor Moody would have also made the cut, had it not been for the fact the man had actually spent the entire year locked in his own trunk, whilst an imposter masqueraded around campus.

"Will sir be requiring anything this evening then?" Pollux asked, looking up at the blue-clad Professor respectfully, honestly a little excited at being selected as the man's PERSONAL attendant. It was considered quite an honor in house elf hierarchy.

"I require little at the moment." Vergil stated, turning his back on the elf as he paced towards a comfortable looking high-back chair near the fire, placing Yamato against the side and removing his blue coat "Have a clean razor and shaving bowl brought to my room when I wake, and a mirror too."

"Pollux is glad to be of service sir." Pollux offered, bowing low again, honestly surprised at the rather simple request. He'd expected the man to demand more frankly "Will there be anything else?"

"Nothing for now." Vergil muttered, placing the coat on the back of the armchair and settling into it, one leg crossed over the other, as he pulled out the book Dumbledore had given him "You may go."

Pollux did so, disappearing with an audible crack, leaving Vergil to resume his reading of the daemonic text, where he would remain until the clock struck midnight.

* * *

The morning after the opening banquet...

a night's rest hadn't done much to improve Harry's mood, as he'd no sooner set foot in Gryffindor common room than the whispering kicked off again. Admittedly the nights rest had done him some good, as he hadn't snapped at anyone yet, but he swore that if he caught one more person eyeballing him he was going to GIVE Fudge a reason to expel him.

Thankfully, Angelina, a fellow veteran of the Quidditch team, had turned up at the breakfast table to announce not only that she'd been appointed the new team captain, but also that try-outs for a replacement goalie were coming up.

Quidditch was one of the few things that Harry excelled at, other than making a general pest of himself wherever Voldemort was concerned, and the idea of getting back into the swing of things, and rubbing Malfoy's face into the dirt in the process, was like catching his second wind.

"Blimey! Look at this!" Ron whistled, holding up his timetable for Harry to see "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination AND double Defense Against the Dark Arts!" he shuddered, "Binns, Snape and Trelawney all in one day…I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those skiving Snackboxes sorted…"

Harry would have paid more attention to the sudden arrival of the twins, and their attempt to jade the golden trio's opinion of fifth year with their horror stories of breakdowns and trauma leading up to the OWL exams, but he was more interested in looking over his timetable, shooting covert looks towards the new DADA Professor as he calmly sipped what appeared to be wine from his goblet, a modest breakfast set before him. Professor McGonagall was eyeing the man's drink in distaste, clearly not thinking much of drinking so early in the morning, but of course did not voice her opinions in public.

Fortunately, the new professor didn't seem inclined to acknowledge Harry's prying this morning, so he was able to leave for Binn's class without incident. There, the spectral Professor promptly put the class to sleep as he droned on about the Giant Wars, a subject that only a ghost could succeed in making sound dull.

Though quite frankly Harry would have preferred being bored to tears to the gauntlet of wills he was about to go through as they approached the potion's dungeon. It hadn't helped that Ron had effectively cock-blocked the 'Boy Who Lived' by butting into his conversation with Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang over something as infantile as her supporting the Tutshill Tornadoes, putting Harry in a decidedly foul mood that Snape seemed to pick up on as he swooped into the dungeon like the oversized bat he was.

"Before we begin today's lesson," the Potion's Master muttered, sweeping over to his desk and staring at them all with obvious contempt "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and uses of magical potions." He narrowed his eyes at Neville Longbottom, who was quite possibly his Second least-favorite student, at least in potions class, right after Harry "Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape and 'Acceptable' in your OWL or suffer my…displeasure.'

Neville, who was apparently experiencing the brunt of Snape's patented 'glare of death' for the first time ever, let out an audible gulp that garnered a round of mocking sniggers from the Slytherins, whilst Snape calmly pointed out that while some may choose to forgo potions after this year, he would only accept those with the highest grades in his NEWT classes.

Harry, quite frankly, couldn't have cared less if Snape wanted them all to dress in drag and do the hula. Even if, and the odds of it happening were on the far side of 'no way in hell', he managed to score within Snape's accepted range, he was tossing Potions the first chance he got, as Five years of the greasy-git had been more than enough.

'Or maybe I'll stay on just to screw with his head?' he wondered, a hint of a smirk forming on his face as he pulled out the ingredients for the potion Snape had assigned them to work on 'Hermione's probably stick it out, so that'd be one classmate I could partner with…'

It wasn't until Snape's shadow loomed over him, ten minutes before the end of class, that the 'Boy-Who-Lived' snapped out of his daze, looking up to find the Potions Master standing over his cauldron with an unreadable expression on his face. "Well Potter…" he muttered, his lips pursing as if he'd sucked an entire crate of lemons "It would appear your not as dunderheaded as you've let on…TRY to keep it up, will you?"

Harry blinked, watching as the hook-nosed professor swooped away to terrify Neville, before turning his attention towards his cauldron, wherein lay a picture perfect Draught of Peace, down to the light silver vapor rising into the air.

Needless to say, Hermione had immediately started pestering him as soon as they left the dungeons behind, as he'd apparently finished his potion a good five minutes before her, and refused to believe that he hadn't been paying attention to what his hands had been doing the entire time.

The look on Malfoy's face as the git had stormed past them towards the Grand Hall had been priceless though. Apparently being made Prefect didn't save you from having your potion come out looking like the lovechild of moldy custard and troll bogeys.

* * *

_With Vergil..._

Vergil watched as his seventh year class made their escape, several of them sending him looks of horror, although a fair few of the girls were sending him looks of adoration. 'Children.' He scoffed, shaking his head in derisive amusement, making his way out of the classroom towards the main hall, eager to grab a light meal before returning to prep for his final classes.

Just as he was alighting off the steps, a redhead teen with a Gryffindor Prefect badge almost ran him over, only to wind up flat on his back, as if he'd run into a wall.

"Do watch where you're going." Vergil muttered, looking down his nose at the freckle-faced teen, looking up to find another Gryffindor prefect, this one a bushy-haired female, and a rather scruffy looking youth with green eyes he recalled from the night before "You could cause an accident."

"Sorry sir." The female offered, whilst the scruffy teen helped the mildly concussed redhead to his feet "Ron was simply in a hurry and…!"

Vergil didn't give her a chance to explain, merely turning on his heal and making for the Grand Hall at a steady, reserved pace, his footfalls echoing impressively in the massive hallways, leaving the brunette sputtering in indignation.

* * *

_With the trio..._

"Just perfect, another Snape." Ron muttered, shooting an annoyed glare towards the staff table, where the new DADA professor was dining with decidedly more decorum than the redhead glaring at him "Bad enough he looks like a grown-up Malfoy, you think he's a relative?"

"I doubt it." Hermione stated, looking up at the new professor carefully. It had irked her at first, how he'd brushed her aside so easily, as if she weren't worth his attention, but unlike Ron, who never let a grudge go out of sheer pig-headedness, Hermione wasn't one to let her emotions rule her. Unless it came to the liberation of house elves of course, then she was reduced to a desperate fanatic.

Harry, between bites of his shepherd's pie, divided his attention between casting looks towards Cho Chang, glaring at Malfoy, and answering the occasional question directed his way from his friends. Now that he got a good look, there was a disturbing likeness between the new professor and his long-time rival, but he supposed it was simply the way they carried themselves and their hair color. And even then there was a stark difference; Malfoy walked with the swagger of a rich boy whose father could make life very difficult for those who crossed his heir. Even though Lucius Malfoy had been stripped of his position on the board of governors, he was still the head of a VERY influential Pureblood family, who had amassed centuries worth of wealth and blackmail material.

Professor Vergil, on the other hand, walked with a regal grace that drew stares even from the males, a type of catlike air that spoke of nobility and power, all of which he'd earned for himself. Even the quality of their hair was different, Draco's white locks looking decidedly yellow when compared to the Professor's pale, almost silver spikes.

Draco could command authority and respect because of his family's wealth, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Professor Vergil could command an even GREATER amount of respect simply by quirking his eyebrow.

"C'mon Harry." Ron called out, shaking the boy out of his thoughts and nodding towards the door "We've got Trelawney next, wanna bet what kind of death she's 'predicted' for you this year?"

Harry snorted, shaking his head in derision as he climbed to his feet, abandoning his empty plate as the two of them made their way towards Trelawney's tower, leaving Hermione at the table. "Honestly." She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief as she finished her own meal with decidedly more decorum than Ron had "How they can continue to attend that farce of a class…"

She trailed off, her eyes widening as she turned to gape at the spot of table that Harry had just vacated, or more accurately, the spot of spilt pumpkin juice that Harry had been idly trailing his finger through.

It was a perfect circle.

* * *

On hour of complete and utter bullshitting later found Harry and Ron joining up with Hermione, as the trio made their way towards their double DADA class. Ron, as usual, was bemoaning the sheer amount of homework they'd received despite it being the first day back, something that actually excited Hermione, who loved nothing more than a good, educational challenge.

"You don't think that new guy's gonna give us any homework is he?" Ron asked, looking over at Harry in trepidation as they drew closer to the classroom "I mean just because he acts like Snape and Malfoy combined doesn't mean he's gonna be a right prick, right?"

"Fred and George DID warn you that fifth year was hectic." Hermione pointed out primly, having already gathered several notes for her own assignments during lunch break "You'll simply have to bite the bullet and actually put more effort into your studies this time round."

"What's a bullet?" Ron asked, earning an exasperated moan from Hermione as they walked into the class, only to find the Professor's desk occupied not by the reserved, noble form of the enigmatic Professor Vergil, but the toad-ish form of Dolores Umbridge, who was once again clad in a horrendous sweater.

"Good afternoon class!" the woman called out, smiling at the students as they got to their seats, a few making half-hearted replies to her greeting "Tut-tut," She countered, earning a grimace from Hermione at her SAYING the word, rather than simply 'tsk'-ing normally "That won't do now will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good Afternoon Professor Umbridge'."

Harry blinked, looking around the classroom to see if he'd heard right, only to find equally confused expressions on the faces of his fellow classmates. "What's wrong?" Umbridge asked, her tone sugar-sweet, but with a hint of growing unpleasantness at being kept waiting "Is there something the matter dears?"

"Pardon me Miss Umbridge…" Hermione called out, raising her hand politely in the air, though she made a point of stressing the 'Miss' in the horrible woman's title "Isn't Professor Vergil taking this class?"

Umbridge's lip twitched, the woman's toad-like eyes flashing with irritation as she leveled a glare towards the girl, only to smile sweetly "Oh it appears he's running a little late, so I'm sure he won't mind me taking you for a while. Wands away and Quills out pleas-!"

"That will not be necessary." A cold, reserved voice called out from the doorway, the class, and Umbridge, whipping round to find Professor Vergil standing there, his katana in his left hand, and his cold blue eyes glaring at Umbridge.

"Ah, Professor Vergil." Umbridge greeted sweetly, though anyone with half a brain in their head could have caught the inflection the toad-like woman placed on the man's title "I was just about to-!"

"I do not particularly care for your excuses, woman." The blue-clad professor stated flatly, cutting Umbridge off and earning gasps of surprise from the class at his tone "Nor do I need them. I am here to teach my class, so kindly go about your business."

Umbridge seemed to swell suddenly, like a toad trying to make itself look bigger, her eyes laced with anger as she turned a shade of puce that Harry had thought only his Uncle could accomplish naturally. She recovered quickly though, and smiled at the man, though it was obviously strained around the edges.

"Go about my business?" the ministry witch repeated, letting out a small, sugar-sweet laugh as she did so "Hem-hem, PROFESSOR Vergil, I do believe my 'business', as you so put it, is to ensure that these children are properly-!"

"Your business, you conniving toad, has nothing to do with me." Professor Vergil cut in, his tone filled with an underlying authority that could bring an enraged Hungarian Hornback to its knees, the class looking on in awe as Umbridge was once again cut-off, "I have asked you once to vacate my chair of your own power…" there was an audible click as he partially unsheathed his Katana with his thumb "I shall not ask you again."

By now, the class was literally on the edge of their seats, torn between laughing their arses off at the look on Umbridge's face, and terrified awe in the face of his open threat. Most of them had never seen a sword like that before, but it was painfully clear the weapon wasn't carried around for decoration.

Umbridge, who looked torn between outrage and mortal terror, made the mistake of daring to meet the professor's eyes, already readying a Legilimens to try and break into his mind, only to freeze, like a toad in the headlights of an oncoming tank at the cold, focused killing intent that pinned her where she stood.

"Well?" the blue clad professor called out, not moving a step from where he stood, his calm face a direct contrast to Umbridge's suddenly panicked expression "What shall it be?

Umbridge let out a choked squawk and staggered away from the desk, keeping her back against the wall as she drew closer to the door, her eyes never leaving the man's sword, unable to bring herself to look into those eyes again as she all but threw herself out of the classroom, tearing down the hallway as fast as her impractical shoes allowed her.

'Minister…' she stammered, her throat unable to process her thoughts as she stumbled towards the chamber she'd been allotted for the duration of her stay 'I have to alert the Minister!'

Few things could startle Dolores Umbridge, who in her time had done everything in her power to claw her way to her current position of power as part of Fudge's inner circle.

But the look in the spiky haired usurper that had robbed her of her place as a professor at Hogwarts was NOT something even she was wont to cross, not without the full backing of the Ministry's Auror force.

And, quite possibly, not even that.

* * *

And so Umbridge learns early on not to dick around with a son of Sparda…especially not the one with no respect for human life.

Next time, class is in session, as Vergil introduces the students of Hogwarts to the family business: Demon 101.

Also: As stated earlier, Umbridge is simply an 'Observer' from the Ministry to 'ensure things are running properly'. This basically means she's nothing more than a nosy freeloader, with no more authority than a guest/student.

She can sit in on lessons, but that's about it. She has no access privileges, nor does she have the right to access the school's fireplace for communication outside the castle walls.

She can still report to Fudge Via Owl post, but without the position as Professor, she cannot give detentions or deduct points of her own volition.

R&R for more Umbridge bashing!


	3. Chapter 3

I had a craving for toad turnovers, so this latest issue of epic, Umbridge Bashing goodness, is up a little earlier than usual.

Enjoy!

* * *

Encyclopedia Demonica.

Vergil waited until he could no longer hear the echo of the detestable woman's retreating footsteps before allowing Yamato to slide back into place with an audible click. Using the butt of the sheath to close the door behind him, the blue clad man thus crossed the understandably silent classroom to his desk, before turning to face his fifth year class, his hands resting atop Yamato's pommel as he regarded them with his regal stare.

"Good afternoon." He called out, running his cold blue eyes over the assorted teens, as if measuring them up, like a butcher signaling out a lamb from among its flock "Now that the nuisance has removed itself, we can get down to business."

Several of the brats dared to chuckle at his disregard of Umbridge, but promptly quelled their humor in the face of his penetrating stare. "As you no doubt remember from the opening banquet, my name is Professor Vergil." He called out, his tone commanding "You will refer to me as such at all times, even outside this classroom." His eyes narrowed slightly, a sudden chill filling the air around the students "Let me make one thing clear to you," he pointed out "I am not here to coddle you, you will learn what I have to teach and you WILL remember it the first time, as I have no patience for incompetents and sluggards."

Holding their gazes for the briefest of seconds, as if to hammer home the point that he was absolutely serious, the blue clad professor promptly lowered the pressure and returned to his desk.

"Now then," he called out, picking up a textbook, that Umbridge had left behind in her bid to escape, with his free hand "how many of you purchased a copy of Defensive Magical Theory?" Several hands rose, tentatively into the air, only for the rest to shoot up as he cocked an eyebrow slightly in their general direction. "I see." He muttered, tossing the book idly in the air, "Well congratulations, you've purchased an overblown paperweight."

He dropped the book on his desk with a distinct lack of care, which would have undoubtedly have brought the wrath of Madam Pince, the harpy-like head librarian, down on his head had he done so in her presence.

"That book may have been on the Ministry approved list of school materials," the professor muttered, his tone dismissive "but I can assure you that it will serve no purpose here unless we happen to run out of firewood. Or lavatory paper."

Harry had to suppress the urge to snort at that, as well as the look of mortification on Hermione's face at the idea of desecrating any book, even one as pointedly useless as this, in such a fashion.

"In truth, there will be little book learning this year," Vergil continued, quirking an eyebrow at the sudden looks of eagerness from most of the class, save the bushy-haired prefect near the front "I prefer to take a hands on approach to teaching myself, but for now, line up single-file and take a copy of the book on my desk, which Professor Dumbledore has seen so graciously fit to provide you with."

* * *

The class did so, muttering eagerly amongst themselves as they obediently lined up, several of them sending the professor looks of awe as they passed him after claiming their books.

Harry was no different, though in truth it was not so much awe as intrigue that drew his attention to the regally dressed man. He idly wondered just what his story was, he clearly wasn't on the Ministry's payroll, as it was clear he and Umbridge were NOT on the same side, but at the same time he didn't recall any of the other staff members acting familiar with him. If anything they seemed decidedly on edge.

"You're holding up the queue, boy." Professor Vergil called out, snapping Harry out of his daze to find the man looking at him with those commanding blue eyes, the rest of the queue grumbling at his taking so long "If you're having second thoughts…"

Harry shook his head, muttering a quick apology as he stepped forward sharply, picking up the black tome and returning to his desk, a slight heat to his cheeks, looking over the title to hide it, only to blink in surprise.

"The Encyclopedia Demonica." Professor Vergil called out, his hands still placed atop the pommel of his sword "A detailed listing of the darkest, foulest creatures to ever claw their way out of the netherworld." He smirked at their looks of bewilderment "You should feel privileged; when this book was first published, the Vatican went to great lengths to destroy its existence." His smirk grew dark "They not only had the author killed on a bonfire of his own works, but saw to it that his entire family, friends, and acquaintances, and even the village he'd been born and lived in, were wiped off the face of the earth."

Harry shivered at that, looking over the seemingly unimpressive textbook with apprehension. Hermione, and several other members of the class, had clapped their hands over their mouths in horror, whilst Ron, who was looking decidedly pale, was gripping the corners of his desk so hard the wood was beginning to crack.

"Fortunately, a wizarding companion of the author had enough sense to vacate the scene via apparition." Vergil continued, as if commenting on the weather and not someone's narrow escape from an religous inquisition "He even had the good will to liberate the master copy, which included the author's own notes and sketches, thus ensuring the information within survived to this day. Turn to the introduction."

* * *

What followed next, in Harry's opinion, was quite possibly one of the most dark, horrifying, mind scarring DADA lesson to date since Lockhart had him re-enact the man's 'battle' against the Amorous Lethifold of New Guinea, where the beast had apparently caught him, literally, with his trousers down.

On the other hand, as he stumbled out of the class, his eyes wide with a combination of horror and awe, he had to admit that, apart from Lupin and the Faux Moody's classes, it had also been one of the most interesting.

"Blimey…" Ron muttered, his face decidedly pale as he staggered out of the classroom, clutching his book bag to his chest like a security blanket "I didn't think anything could top Aragog's lot in the forest…" he shivered at the memory of the aged Acromantula and his army of children "But…the stuff in that book…"

Harry nodded, looking round to find Hermione walking along, looking decidedly paler than usual, not to mention alarmingly subdued, which was in itself surprising. Normally after a lesson she'd be brimming with questions, hell she often fielded questions DURING the lessons, as if trying to increase the workload for them.

But not only had she held her tongue during the lesson, too enraptured by the material in the morbid tome and Professor Vergil's own, personal recounting of the facts within, but she had actually remained silent the one time he'd asked a question.

"Still…" Ron muttered, exhaling explosively as his skin returned, slowly, to it's normal pallor the more he walked along "Hell of a lesson eh? And he didn't even assign us any homework!"

That wasn't strictly true, as the Professor had, in parting, suggested that they read up on as much of the book as they could before their next lesson. Harry, however, had a sneaking suspicion that Professor Vergil's 'suggestions' were to be taken at their word, and regarded as indirect orders.

"You alright Hermione?" Ron asked suddenly, looking round towards his fellow prefect in concern, as she'd been silent throughout the entire exchange "Hermione?"

"Oh! Um, yes?" the brunette asked, jumping slightly, as if roused from her own little world by the redhead's prodding "Is something the matter, Ron?"

"Blimey, if he can stun YOU so bad you start dozing off he MUST be good." Ron muttered, shaking his head in awe as Hermione shot him a glare.

"I wasn't stunned!" she insisted, though she had the decency to look away at Harry and Ron's deadpan expressions, coughing discreetly into he fist as she did so "I'm just…surprised at the course material…this isn't really something that's taught just anywhere."

"Don't see why not." Ron muttered, shivering as he looked over the tome the girl was carrying in her arms "I mean its Defense Against the Dark Arts right? Well the stuff in here's pretty bloody dark all right." He nodded confidently "Plus if Hagrid can order a 'Monster Book' about monsters it stands to reason this guy can order something like this."

"Still…" Hermione muttered, biting her lower lip as she looked over the tome she was carrying, her brow furrowed in confusion "There's no way the ministry would have sanctioned THIS as course material…"

"Who cares?" Ron muttered, shaking his head as they made their way towards the great hall, where the sounds of the evening meal were already in progress "All I want is to grab a bite before hitting the sack, Trelawney's Dream Diary isn't going to write itself."

* * *

_Later that evening..._

"Pollux." Vergil called out, going over Yamato with a cleaning cloth, his coat once more draped over the back of the high-back chair as he sat before the hearth.

"You called, sir?" the house elf asked, appearing before the white haired man with his head lowered and his hands clasped together "Is you needing anything?"

"I want you to keep an eye on that Umbridge woman." Vergil ordered, not looking up from Yamato, nor stalling in his task of maintaining the blade as he spoke "Keep me informed of her actions, particularly of any messages she sends out."

"Umbridge is sending letter off earlier today, Master Vergil." Pollux reported, lowering his head in preparation of a retaliatory strike, only to continue when none came "Pollux is sorry…"

"Don't be, you hadn't known." Vergil muttered, lifting the blade high and examining it in the firelight "Too bad though, I don't like the idea of her sending reports as she pleases."

"Pollux can intercept message?" the elf suggested, looking down as Vergil diverted his attention from Yamato to his servant "Is simple matter, even bring bird back unharmed."

"Do so." Vergil ordered, internally impressed at the elves ingenuity, not that he'd admit it aloud "and from now on I want you to watch Umbridge like a hawk, unless I specify otherwise."

"Very well sir." Pollux said, bowing low to the ground, relieved that he wasn't about to be punished for his presumed failure "Is sir requiring anything else?"

"No…" Vergil began, about to turn back to his maintenance of Yamato, only to pause as a frown formed on his brow "Wait…there is something." He admitted, looking down at the prostate form of the elf "I need to know of any rooms large enough to handle being used for physical training, it also needs sufficient wards to prevent people spying on what goes on inside."

"Pollux is knowing just the place, sir!" the elf replied eagerly, actually dancing from foot to foot in his readiness to please "There is a room that adapts to needs of one that entering it! Pollux saw headmaster using it once when he needing restroom really bad! It empty before, but when Headmaster entered it filled with chamber pots!"

Vergil quirked an eye at the elf, honestly wondering if it was mad, but brushed it aside as inconsequential, as even mad it was nonetheless a valuable servant.

"Show me."

* * *

"Impressive…" Vergil muttered, his voice echoing as he walked into the center of the massive chamber that, by all rights, had no business being on the other side of a door that looked no bigger than a storage closet.

The room was easily the size of the grand hall, but cubed as opposed to the Hall's cuboid. The floor, walls and even the ceiling were, interestingly enough, covered in dried blood, some of which looked surprisingly fresh, making appear as if you were surrounded on all sides by giant scabs and scar tissue.

The floor even had a fleshy feel to it, though not in a way that hindered his movement, simply a slight softness that made one wonder exactly what the walls were covered with.

"Pollux is never seeing room like this before…" the house elf muttered, eyeing the walls in trepidation, as if expecting all manner of elf devouring creatures to crawl into view, and staying as close to his master as possible "Where is this, sir?"

"The Bloody Palace…" Vergil muttered, eyeing the room before him with a hint of wry approval on his face "I read about it in my father's memoirs, a never-ending series of rooms within which exist countless demons."

"D-DEMONS?" Pollux squeaked, gripping the hem of Vergil's cloak in terror, his eyes wide and his ears pointing straight up as he kept a more constant vigil over the room "P-Pollux is wanting to go now m-master Vergil…"

"Go then, but tell no-one of this place or my being here." Vergil ordered, shaking his coat out of the elf's grip, even as a series of moans filled the air around them "And while you're at it, see about intercepting that message."

"P-Pollux will g-get right on it s-s-sir!" the elf stammered, before popping out of existence, scant seconds before a large, goat headed creature with bat like wings, cloven hooves and a muscular torso swiped the area he just vacated.

"Goatlings eh?" Vergil noted, quirking an eyebrow as the beasts, at least twenty in all, gathered around him like prowling wolves. Some of them hovered in mid-air, looking down at him balefully with their arms crossed, while the others were content with stamping their cloven hooves and baying at him with their throaty roars "Hardly the most pressing opponents…" he muttered, raising Yamato before him and placing a hand on the hilt "but you'll do for a warm up."

* * *

Vergil arrived at the breakfast table the following morning with a small, satisfied smile on his face that unnerved several members of the faculty, and most certainly unnerved Dolores Umbridge, who vacated her seat next to McGonagall in favor of one at the end of the table, all on her lonesome, though McGonagall and Flitwick, who'd been on the woman's other side, couldn't have been happier.

The Deputy-Headmistress even greeted the new DADA professor with a slightly less formal tone, whilst Flitwick passed him a plate of buttered toast with his wand, both of which were accepted gracefully by Vergil, who made a point of taking a large bite out of the toast directly in view of Umbridge, who excused herself from the table shortly afterwards.

* * *

"Today's lesson will be a practical one." Vergil informed his 5th year class, standing before them with his hands resting on Yamato's pommel like a cane as they finally settled down "Put away your books and come with me."

There was an excited muttering as the students did as they were told, as the last time they'd undergone a practical lesson they'd faced off against a boggart, a shape shifter that took the form of their greatest fears, and could only be defeated by forcing it to become something you found absolutely ridiculous, such as Neville envisioning his boggart, which had assumed the form of Snape, into his Grandmother's frock, shawl and vulture adorned hat. Harry idly prayed for Neville's safety, knowing that if the Potions Master ever learned of it, the clumsy, but good-natured Gryffindor wouldn't be long for this world.

"We're here." Vergil called out, coming to a halt outside a storage closet, drawing looks of confusion from the class, even as he opened the door and levelled a comanding glare at them "Everyone inside. No questions."

The class, unwilling to attract the professor's ire, did as they were told, several of them gasping in surprise as they stepped out of the hallway and into a cavernous room, easily the size of the grand hall. There were mosaics on the floor and walls, and long, crimson carpet stretched from one side of the room to the other.

"Blimey…" Ron whistled, gaping around the large, ornate room in disbelief, even as Vergil shut the door behind them with an audible click "I thought I'd seen everything, but this is just-!"

"Line up along the carpet and stand at attention." Vergil called out, the class snapping to attention and racing to carry out his orders, standing with their wands in their hands and the shoulders prepped "Now then, who here followed my advice and read ahead?"

Hermione's hand, predictably shot up into the air, along with a few others, Harry included. Ron, who hadn't so much as touched the book since the last lesson, looked between the two with a hint of betrayal.

"You there." Vergil called out, his tone clipped and his eyes commanding as he locked onto Ron's startled features, the redhead jumping at being adressed so suddenly "What's your name, boy?"

"W-Weasley sir…" Ron stammered, a little unnerved by the intensity of the Professor's eyes, before clearing his throat and trying again, this time with a more stable tone "Ron Weasley."

"Are you a prefect, Mr. Weasley?" the professor asked, his expression unreadable as he stood before the class, hands on the pommel of his sword again "Don't you think, as a prefect, you should have set an example for your classmates? Or is the simple task of reading a book too much responsibility?"

Ron's ears turned red in embarrassment, though he stubbornly held the man's gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of having gotten to him.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley." Vergil ordered, nodding his head in a beckoning gesture that startled the prefect when he made no sign of moving, one silvery brow quirked commandingly "Today, preferably."

Muttering to himself, the redhead slouched towards the professor, his wand still in his hand, the knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip to keep from swearing aloud. He kept his head lowered slightly, even as he pulled up right in front of the professor as ordered.

"Now then Mr. Weasley," Vergil began, his eyes never leaving the redhead's "Supposing, off the top of my head, that you were walking along the street, alone, when something, quite possibly one of the numerous horrors listed in your textbook, jumped out of the shadows and assaulted you…what would you do?"

"Hex it?" Ron muttered grouchily, a little miffed at being talked down to, only to yelp as he received a crack to the side of the head with the butt of the Professor's sheath "Ow!"

"Wrong." Vergil corrected, his eyes boring into the redhead's with an intensity that could reduce a building to ashes "If you had read ahead, you would have learned, or at least surmised, that most demons have a naturally high resistance to most spells outside the elemental spectrum. Spells that, normally, could be used to defend yourself, such as stunning spells, will only prove effective in the hands of an experienced caster, and even then will only provide a temporary window of opportunity."

Harry winced in discomfort, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling out in protest at his friend's treatment, but could see the point in the Professor's logic, though he didn't agree at all with his hitting his friend.

"Let us try another approach." Vergil suggested, "You're being assaulted by a demon, one impervious to most magical spells, whilst walking along a deserted back street, near a dark alley, which leads to a dead end, and the opening to a bustling market square." He looked the redhead in the eyes "You have the choice of either running towards the street, standing your ground, or backing up into the alley to limit the demon's field of movement, which would you choose?"

"Well I'm not running into the alley." Ron muttered blithely, rubbing the side of his head in irritation "If the thing's immune to magic then boxing myself in would be a signing my own death warrant."

"Indeed." Vergil noted, nodding his head slightly in approval of the boy's logic, before gesturing him to continue with a regal wave of his hand, his eyes never leaving Ron's.

"Well…" the redhead began, a little more confidently after the praise he'd just received "Since it's immune to magic, and I can't fight it off on my own, I suppose I'd head for the main street and try and get hel-!"

He froze, several of the students crying out in alarm as Vergil, with the suddenness of a viper, drew his sword and held the point at Ron's throat, his eyes suddenly cold as ice.

"If I had been your attacker," the professor muttered coldly "I could have killed you by now. NEVER, under any circumstances, should you turn your back to a demon, unless absolutely certain it isn't about to get up and stab you in it."

Ron would have nodded his understanding were it not for the business end of the professor's Katana aimed at his throat. He was so scared he couldn't even swallow, afraid that if he did, he'd cut himself on the point.

"Furthermore," the professor continued "I never said that it was a WIZARDING market place, did I? Demons aren't fickle when it comes to human flesh, they'll eat regular humans as readily as wizards." He snorted mockingly "They actually prefer it, less of a struggle to kill their meal."

He withdrew his sword, allowing Ron to breath once again, the redhead slumping in relief as he sheathed the blade and set it before him once again. "Another thing for you should keep in mind is that demons usually hunt in packs of at least two." He held up his fingers in a victory sign for emphasis "So even IF you managed to escape or stun one of them, the other could have snuck up from behind and torn you apart."

Ron swallowed, nodding his head in understanding as he returned to his spot in the line, idly rubbing his neck with his free hand and flinching as he stared at the pinprick of blood that lay on his palm. Harry, who had been looking on in concern, caught sight of his friend's discomfort and scowled at the professor.

"Now then." Vergil called out, addressing the whole class once again, his blue eyes brooking no arguments from them "We have narrowed down the possibilities. The alley is out, calling for help is out, and running away is most certainly out. What does that leave us with?"

Neville, to whom the question had been addressed, let out a squeak of shock as he felt the professor's piercing blue eyes lock onto him, his reply coming out amidst a nervous stutter. "S-s-stand…our g-ground?" he suggested uncertainly.

"Are you asking or answering?" Vergil asked, slamming the butt of Yamato into the ground with an audible crack that caused everyone to flinch, noting the small crack that the blow had left in the floor "Speak up so everyone can hear you."

"H-HOLD OUR GROUND!" Neville yelled, his voice echoing around the walls of the chamber, even as he panted for breath, unused to raising his voice that high.

"Correct, and five points to Gryffindor for your enthusiasm." Vergil applauded, earning a look of surprise from Neville, who till this day had never earned a single point for Gryffindor outside of Herbology, unless the points he received in their first year for standing up to Harry, Ron and Hermione counted "When the chips are down there's nothing for it but to take the demons head on. Yes?"

"Pardon me, Professor Vergil sir." Hermione called out, lowering her hand after being acknowledged by the man "But aren't you contradicting yourself? How can we stand against a demon if they're immune to magic?"

"A good question." Vergil assented, tilting his head towards the bushy haired prefect in acknowledgement "And truth be told, you cannot immediately determine a demon's elemental affinity, simply by looking at it. Most people would instantly assume it's fire and whip out a water spell of some sort, but while it is true that demons reside in the netherworld, this does NOT necessarily reside in those realms that are literal blast furnaces."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at this, though truth be told he'd garnered as much from reading ahead in his book. He'd actually gotten as far as a breed of Cerberus that resided in the frozen ring of the underworld before calling it a night. He fervently hoped that Hagrid never learned of them, for if the text was right the demonic canines made Fluffy, the Cerberus Hagrid had once lent to Dumbledore to guard the Philosopher's Stone, seem like a newborn pup in comparison.

"As such," Vergil continued "unless one possess an intimate understanding of demon kind, one cannot accurately predict which spells will prove most effective." He looked them all over with his piercing blue eyes "However, there is one common weakness that all demons, regardless of species, rank or hierarchy are vulnerable to and it is this weakness that will be teaching you to exploit."

"Sir?" Hermione called out, raising her hand in the air again to catch the Professor's attention once more "I'm sorry, but I don't recall such a weakness being listed in-!"

"That's because the weakness is so blatantly OBVIOUS the author doubtlessly didn't feel the need to write it down." Vergil pointed out, earning a blush from the girl as he smirked "Be that as it may, there is one, key weakness that all Demon's can succumb to…"

A terrifying roar filled the air, the class whipping round, only for them to scream and scatter at the sight of a massive, goat-headed monstrosity with cloven hooves, a man's torso, and bat-like wings, all in a blood-coloured hue, as it bore down on them from on high, crimson eyes blazing with madness and bloodlust.

Neville, who had tripped over his own two feet in his panic, gaped up at the monstrosity in horror as it swooped down on him, his eyes snapping shut even as the creature let out a howl of agony, prompting him to open them again in confusion.

Vergil stood between the boy and the demon, his Katana drawn and the sheath held in the other hand. His back was to them all, but it was clear to everyone the cause of the demon's distress was it's arm, or rather, the vacant spot that had once been it's arm, the limb itself lying several feet away, sliced into several pieces.

"A Blood Goat…" Vergil noted, his tone intrigued, but at the same time laced with a cold mockery that not even Snape could ever hope to emulate as he sheathed his sword "Well now, how nice of you to provide me with a demonstration."

The Blood Goat roared in defiance, rearing it's one remaining arm back, the fist filling with energy as it prepared to launch a fireball at the man. Vergil, as if heedless of his impending assault, merely crouched in an Iai-stance, his face as confident as ever, only to suddenly disappear, the Blood Goat's fist lashing out at thin air, even as it blinked in confusion at the equally startled form of Neville.

There was an eruption of blood, the Blood Goat letting out a last, mournful howl as it's body fell into numerous, bloody chunks at Neville's feet, the terrified teen retreating on all fours only to blink as he caught sight of the figure standing behind the remains.

"The single weakness shared by all demons." Vergil called out, standing up from his crouch behind the Blood Goat's remains, lashing out with Yamato to rid it of the blood, before turning to face the stunned faces of his class, a cold smirk on his face as he sheathed the blade with deliberate slowness "Cold. Hard. STEEL."

* * *

Yes, the Room of Requirement has opened a portal to the Bloody Palace.

I chose to base it off the BP of the DMC2 game, whose appearance changed with higher levels. The level Vergil went into with Pollux was much deeper into hell than the one he introduced the class to.

And, not much Umbridge bashing this time sadly, unless you count that obvious dig at the Ministry's approved booklist, the incident at breakfast and Pollux intercepting her mail (oh the irony...). Rest assured there will be more in the future.

Vergil is very much a hands on kind of guy. He'll teach them from books, but nothing can beat actual combat experience, so the Harry & co. are in for some bruises.

I chose the Goatlings & Blood Goat as the first demons to introduce because, lets face it, compared to the monsters from the other games, they weren't that special. Stereotypical goatheaded demons, the perfect thing to scare a group of fifth years with, but next to the brother's sparda? Roadkill.

Vergil will NOT be getting a wand. He doesn't NEED a wand. And I'm pretty sure if he DId try to get one it'd blow Ollivander's store to smithereens...or open a portal to hell, whatever comes first.

R&R!


	4. Chapter 4

And so Vergil give's Harry's year a right proper introduction to the dark side, and generally FUBARS Fudge's attempts at Snowballing Hogwarts and Dumbledore.

This party's gettin' crazy...Let's Rock!

* * *

Hogwarts Inquisition.

Cornelius Fudge paced in his office at the Ministry of Magic, his face a mix between impotent terror and rage.

It had been bad enough when his attempt at curtailing Dumbledore's attempts at turning the impressionable students of Hogwarts into an army failed, namely by the simple fact that his little 'Educational Decree' had been beaten by Dumbledore actually managing to find someone to fill the role of DADA professor. This meant he'd had to find a different method of having one of his people planted at Hogwarts, but there was only so much authority Dolores could wield with only the title of 'Representative', which basically meant she was little more than a Freeloader, with no more power or rights than those of a student.

Hell she wasn't even allowed to enter the dorms, let alone the offices of the staff.

Not only that, he had a sneaking suspicion that the messages she was sending him were being checked, but brushed this aside as ludicrous. Dolores was a Ministry official, she had her own private owl that was immune to the screening Fudge had set up over the Hogwarts Owl-Post, and all letters to the ministry were covered with protective spells that would trigger the minute the wrong recipient touched it, thus destroying the contents.

But the fact was Dumbledore had not only managed to recruit a new professor, but Fudge had absolutely no idea who the man was. He clearly wasn't on the Ministry's list of potential DADA professors, or Fudge would have already seen to it he was 'indisposed', and there was no listing of a Vergil anywhere in the Auror reports. It was as if the man had popped out of thin air to mock the Minister.

For a fleeting second, he humored the possibility of the man being a muggle, or even a squib, but brushed it aside as madness. Dumbledore might have gone mad, a delusion that Fudge had desperately come to believe as fact, but even HE wouldn't be so desperate as to hire a Squib, let alone bring a Muggle past the anti-detection wards.

Still, the fact was the man wasn't in Fudge's pocket, which most logically, according to the desperate Minister, meant he was one of Dumbledore's men, which in turn meant that right now he was likely teaching a much different curriculum than the Ministry had planned out for the year, and the many that would follow if Fudge had any say about it.

'This will NOT do.' Fudge muttered, idly turning his bowler hat between his hands, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as he feebly tried to think of a way to circumvent Dumbledore's scheming 'Dolores is literally flying blind, without the authority as professor she can't even set up a communication's spell in the fireplace, and there's only so much we can risk to Owl Post...'

"Sir?" a voice called out from behind as Percy Weasley, the Minister's junior assistant and estranged son of the Weasley family, entered with a stack of forms to fill in "Here are the-!"

"HAVEN'T YOU EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING?" Fudge snarled, though in actuality it was more like a terrified shriek, as he'd been rather jumpy of late, wondering when one of Dumbledore's spies would swoop in and jinx him.

'As a matter of fact,' he noted, his eyes narrowing as Percy scuttled out of the room in a panic, leaving the papers fluttering where he'd thrown them in the air 'the whole Weasley family's in Dumbledore's pocket…better make inquiries into his loyalty…!'

He trailed off, running that last train of thought through his head as a slow, wicked grin formed on his face, before jamming his Bowler on top of his head and making for the records room, idly making a note to give Weasley a raise.

After all, anyone that could help the minister think up a plan THIS ingenious couldn't POSSIBLY be against him.

* * *

Breakfast, hogwarts...

"High Inquisitor?" Harry repeated, looking over Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet in disbelief, idly skimming through Percy's load of gobshite concerning how well Umbridge had been accepted into Hogwarts.

"Accepted my arse." Ron muttered in agreement, shooting the smug looking toad a look of disgust between bites of bacon and porridge "The way they're going on you think she hasn't been sneaking around the castle like a cat-burglar. I hear she got caught trying to convince Filch to unlock the door to the staff-room the other day."

"I wonder what on earth they meant by 'Weeding out the threats to our children'?" Hermione wondered aloud, looking over the paper with a frown "You'd think there was a Death Eater mixed in with the faculty…" she blinked at the deadpan stare the others sent her "Oh come on! So it happened once! Even Dumbledore was convinced that Grouch was Moody!"

Harry shook his head, not wanting too think to much on the events of the previous year, where he'd been literally been led around by the nose by one of Voldemort's flunkies in the disguise of Albus' retired Auror friend and then DADA Professor. Ironically though, aside from Lupin in his third year, the faux-Moody had probably taught Harry the most in regards to the dark side of magic, and probably saved Harry's life, albeit unintentionally, by hammering the concept of 'Constant Vigilance' into his head.

It still didn't change the fact that Grouch had arranged things so Harry would compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, an event that led not only to the revival of Voldemort into a corporeal body, but the death of Cedric Diggory, which could have all been avoided had Harry not been involved and Cedric not been a sportsman, insisting that BOTH Hogwarts competitors touch the Cup at the same time.

He could still remember the sight of Cedric's echo circling him, alongside the ghostly remnants of his parents, Lily and James Potter, and countless other souls that had been snuffed out by Voldemort as the two battled in the graveyard, could still see the acceptance on Cedric's face, the look of forgiveness that made it clear he held no grudge against Harry for his death, his yell for Harry to run before he and the other echoes hurled themselves at Voldemort, holding him off long enough for Harry to reach the Cup-turned-Portkey and make his escape.

Shaking his head suddenly, Harry looked up at the staff table, noting once again that Hagrid absence with a hint of wonderment, before turning his attention towards the apparent witch of the hour, only to blink as he caught her staring, not at him, but at Professor Vergil. The look on Umbridge's face as decidedly smug, almost as if she had been appointed Minister herself, but it was slowly turning sour as Professor Vergil, with his usual regal, detached air, simply ignored the woman in favor of conversing with Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration Mistress looking rather surprised, as Vergil had never started a conversation before.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, drawing Harry's attention back to his friends, only to find Ron looking up at the staff table, a wide grin stretching across his freckled face.

"Nothing really." The redhead noted, taking a rather smug bite out of his toast, never taking his eyes off the table "I just can't wait to see McGonagall and Vergil get inspected. Umbridge won't know what hit her."

Harry blinked, looking back at the table as an identical smirk crossed his own face, looking over the strict, but fair head of Gryffindor house, before flinching as he looked at Professor Vergil, as something told him that, while undoubtedly epic, he wouldn't want to be within a hundred miles of Umbridge when she came to inspect the man's class.

* * *

Later that day...

Umbridge didn't make an appearance at their History of Magic lesson, meaning they could all drift through Binn's slumber inducing lecture, something about some demon uprising two millennia ago that, once again, would have been more exciting had anyone else been talking about it, followed by a period of Double Potions where, much to his shock, and Snape's obvious distaste, Harry's essay on moonstones had somehow, despite his scrawling it while half-asleep, managed to rate an 'A', which according to Fred and George, who'd met up with them for Lunch, was deemed 'Acceptable', which Harry correctly surmised was the Wizarding equivalent of the muggle grade 'C'.

"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Fred asked, as the twins settled down for lunch next to the golden trio, Hermione shaking her head in denial, asking the twins if they'd been inspected yet, to which George nodded, as Umbridge had apparently seen fit to sit in on Flitwick's class.

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down." George muttered, helping himself to a buttered roll as he spoke "He usually gets everyone through their exams alright."

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asked, turning an inquisitive gaze towards Harry, who promptly pulled out his timetable to double check his classes for the day.

"Trelawney…" the teen muttered, inwardly agreeing with the twin's opinion of the batty, overdramatic seer rating a 'T' despite himself "and Professor Vergil."

"Now there's a Professor!" George opined, the grin on his face absolutely manic, as if the creators of Zonko's, the wizarding joke shop, had just handed them the keys to his factory "He's mental! Have you seen him with that sword of his?"

"Wicked." Fred agreed, shaking his head in wonderment at some deliciously gory memory that made the golden trio blink "Dumbledore's alright in our book, and it'll take a lot to outdo Lupin, but I tell ya, Professor Vergil comes pretty damn close."

"I still think it's strange." Hermione muttered, frowning at the incredulous stares sent her way by the four males "Well think about it, most people don't consider demonology a subject that should be taught. I actually think a branch of the Ministry that specialized in it was shut down and merged with the Auror corps."

"Well I think it's pretty clear what Professor Vergil thinks of the Ministry's interference." George pointed out with a smug smirk as he eyed the blue-clad Professor on at the staff table "Anyways, see you at Quidditch practice Harry."

* * *

Divination that day proved even more unpleasant than usual, as Umbridge had apparently decided to sit in on the lesson, makin little notes and asking Professor Trelawney for examples of her craft. Needless to say Trelawney, who to Harry's knowledge had yet to predict anything remotely solid, including the various threats on Harry's life, did NOT make much of an impression on the Inquisitor.

Sadly, after having his dream diary read aloud, and apparently somehow even managing to receive a death sentence in all of them, including the one where he'd simply been eating porridge, Harry couldn't bring himself to pity the woman any more, and his mood hadn't improved when Umbridge had apparently tagged along with the group to sit in on Professor Vergil's class.

Or rather she tried to, as just before she was about to enter, coincidentally right behind Neville, Professor Vergil had, apparently without noticing her, slammed the door in her face, the woman's shriek as she was knocked off her feet brightening Harry's, and the rest of the class' day.

"Miss Umbridge." The blue-clad Professor greeted, opening the door with a detached air to find the high inquisitor glaring up at him indignantly from her spot on the hallway floor "What brings you here?"

"Professor Vergil." Umbridge began, her tone reminiscent of a serpent's hiss for the briefest of seconds, before she managed to control herself, standing up straight with her clipboard in hand "Did you not receive my note, giving the time and date of your…"

"Inspection?" Vergil cut in, his tone dismissive, though Harry felt a shiver wash over him for some strange reason, as if he'd stepped through a ghost "I had forgotten, as I had more pressing matters to handle, namely attending to my classes."

Umbridge's face twitched as the class let out a series of snickers, but covered it up with effort and smiled, a sick-looking grimace that displayed her pointed teeth "I certain you've been very…busy." She noted, sending a dark glare towards Harry, or more specifically, the teen's copy of the Encyclopedia Demonica "And certainly, the proper education of the children SHOULD be your primary concern-!"

"Glad we are in agreement." Vergil cut in, turning his back on the witch as he strode towards his desk "There is a stool at the back of the class, feel free to use it if you grow tired of standing."

Harry actually had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing as Umbridge once again pulled off a stunning imitation of Uncle Vernon, her face turning a ruddy puce as she shook with impotent rage, before storming to the back of the class and perching on the stool, a dusty little thing that would have been perfect for Flitwick, but had her tilting at odd angles if she leant too far one way or the other.

"Now then," Vergil spoke out, turning to face the class, his hands once again resting on Yamato's pommel like a cane, his blue eyes looking over the students impassively "Who here can tell me the most effective means of disabling a Marionette? Granger?"

"Sir," Hermione responded, ignoring the sound of Umbridge clearing her throat at the back of the class "Marionette's, being little more than puppets manipulated by dark energy, can be easily broken apart by impact spells of notable force. Furthermore, being puppets, they can be set alight and disposed of that way."

"Correct on both counts." Vergil acknowledged, nodding his head towards the bushy-haired prefect in approval "Ten points to Gryffindor. Now then, what is the difference between a Marionette and a Bloody Mari?"

"One's a drink sir?" Lee Jordan quipped, earning a round of laughter from the class that covered up yet another not-so-subtle cough from Umbridge, though they quickly stilled as Vergil leveled a glare at them, only to snort offhandedly.

"I suppose you have a point there, Jordan." The blue-clad professor noted, the class sighing in relief, again covering up Umbridge's cough "Still, Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, unless of course you can tell me the REAL difference?"

"Erm, Bloody Mari's are red sir?" the youth stammered, wracking his brains desperately in a bid to keep the points Hermione had earned, as the brunette could get quite snippy when she wanted to "OH! And they like to throw knives sir!"

"Not a textbook answer but good enough." Vergil muttered, earning a sigh of relief from Lee, who slumped against his desk in relief "They are also notably more resilient to spells than simple Marionettes, in layman's term it would take a Reductor curse, or something in that range, to take them down permanently. Though one could also manage it with a good solid thrust to the torso with a decent weapon." He quirked an eyebrow at the class as they gaped at him in awe "Well? Why aren't you taking notes?"

The rustle of quill and parchment did not quite cover up Umbridge's cough this time, but Vergil simply gazed over his class authoritatively, appearing to have not heard her. "Now then," he muttered "at the end of our last class I suggested you all do some additional reading on a subject of your choice, who here would like to share their material?" he looked over the class, noting the rather impressive show of hands, none more eager than Hermione, only to nod his head "Potter, did you find a subject worth mentioning?"

"Not really sir," Harry admitted, flinching slightly as the professor's eyebrow quirked in a manner that unnerved him, "Not that I didn't find anyone," he corrected hurriedly, as for some reason, the idea of displeasing was decidedly unsettling "its just there wasn't a lot of information on him."

"I'd be surprised if there was." Vergil admitted, earning a blink from the majority of the class, who'd lowered their hands to pay attention "Judging by the way you referred to the subject as 'him', I'm guessing you must have looked up one of the 'Named' demons or Devils." He ignored the choking noise Umbridge made from the back of the class "Named demons are generally harder to gather information on, as unlike regular ones, they are not only as intelligent as any mortal, sometimes even more so, but they tend to kill anything in their path."

The class shivered at that, some of them looking decidedly pale around the face at the idea of some of the things they'd read coming after them, even as Vergil waved for Harry to continue.

"Like I said, there wasn't a lot on this one sir," Harry admitted, opening the book to a specific page "It's more of a footnote really, but his name is mentioned frequently in other chapters. Have you ever heard of a demon called Sparda sir?"

* * *

Vergil went deathly still, as if struck dead by a bolt of lightning where he stood, his hands clenching atop the pommel of Yamato as the class looked on in growing alarm. "Potter…" the blue clad man called out, his tone laced with a cold authority that caused the class to back up slightly in their seats "Are you sure the demon's name was Sparda?"

"Y-yes sir?" Harry stammered, a little unnerved as he looked into the Professor's eyes, feeling once more the unbreakable pull of those steel-blue orbs "It doesn't really go into detail though, but his name is mentioned several times in the book and…"

"I suppose he would be." Vergil allotted, his tone returning to something akin to normalcy as he calmed down, the oppressive aura that had bore down on the class diminishing "After all, that particular Devil has quite a history."

"Devil sir?" Hermione repeated, even as excited mutters rose from amidst the class, covering up Umbridge's attempts at garnering attention quite effectively "You've said that term before, surely you don't mean THE devil sir?"

"No Miss Granger." Vergil countered, shaking his head in contradiction "Lucifer, otherwise known as the Morning Star, is a completely different entity to the beings known as Devils, though there are those who believe they are in some way related to him." He turned to face the class once more "Devils are a higher caliber of monster, you could say they're the monsters even monsters fear to cross. A skilled mortal could possibly fend off an army of lesser demons on their own with the appropriate spells and armaments, but all it would take is one blow for a Devil to dispatch him, and the very army he'd been fighting."

"Sir?" Lee Jordan called out, raising his hand in the air, blocking Umbridge's features from Vergil's view, much to the man's relief "You said the Devil Harry mentioned had a History?"

"I did indeed." Vergil admitted, looking down at the pommel of Yamato as he spoke, a smirk forming as small, arcs of blue energy danced over his hand, invisible to the naked eye "He's infamous in the underworld, the Devil that turned his back on his own kin…" he looked up, his eyes seeming to bore into the student's eyes at once "for the sake of humanity."

Shocked gasps erupted, followed by frantic whispering as the students looked between one another in shock, covering up a particularly LOUD cough from Umbridge, who was turning red with rage at being so soundly ignored, only to let out a shriek as the stool finally collapsed under her weight, sending her clattering to the floor on her back. HARD.

"Miss Umbridge," Vergil called out, even as the rest of the class turned to gape at the struggling High Inquisitor, laughing their heads off as she rolled around like an upturned turtle "If you cannot keep from disrupting my class with such theatrics I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"PROFESSOR VERGIL." Umbridge snapped, rising to her feet, her face a mask of impotent fury, the mask of geniality gone as she advanced on the man, her broken clipboard under her arm and her hair and clothes a distinct mess "Just WHAT do you think you're teaching these children?"

"I think it should be painfully obvious," Vergil replied, his reserved features a stark contrast to that of Umbridge, who looked ready to explode at any given moment "I was asked to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Demons happen to be my area of expertise." He smirked, looking smugly down at the much shorter woman "And in my opinion, when it comes to dark, Demons are as bad as it gets."

"That is NOT the POINT!" Umbridge snapped, jabbing her finger into the man's chest for emphasis "The ministry has most CERTAINLY not sanctioned this subject to be taught here! When Minister Fudge learns of this-!"

"He can, and will, do nothing." Vergil countered, his tone suddenly slipping into sub-zero temperatures as he glared at the woman that had dared assault him so "While I may not have been here as long as the rest of the staff, I know for a FACT that the ministry has no authority over the curriculum taught at Hogwarts. Even if the whole Wizarding world were to back Fudge, the very laws he seeks to manipulate to get his way prohibit him from so much as voicing a protest." He narrowed his eyes coldly "Doubtless one of the reasons he tried to have you assigned to the school was so you could ensure these children wasted their time on theoretical claptrap that has no benefit in the real world."

Umbridge recoiled as if slapped, lowering her gaze fearfully as Vergil's eyes flashed red and blue, the same terror that had sent her scuttling out of his class before returning, only this time Vergil was standing between her and the exit, and he did NOT look inclined to let her pass. She panted heavily, sweat trailing down her face as she clapped a hand to her heart, which was beating erratically under the strange pressure that seemed to be weighing her down.

Then the bell went, signifying the end of classes for the day, and the pressure was gone, the High Inquisitor stumbling from the sudden shift, only to find Vergil staring down at her coolly, a good foot to the side of where he'd been standing, allowing her clear passage to the doorway.

Had someone thought to time the High Inquisitor, as she raced out the door at top speed in her impractical heels, they would have surely noted the new speed record the woman had broken in her mad attempt to vacate the classroom, racing off to her office to report her findings to Fudge.

* * *

"Well, it would seem class has ended for today." Vergil muttered, not even smirking as Umbridge's footsteps retreated, knowing that Pollux would intercept the woman's letters and that a communications network had yet to be set up in her fireplace. It seemed that whoever wove the protective wards over Hogwarts had been VERY specific as to who was allowed to possess such a tool, meaning only the faculty could have one set up, a position that Umbridge lacked, despite Fudge's attempts at having the title of Inquisitor added to the recognition charms.

"Now then," he called out "I want each of you that researched a unique subject to bring me in a two foot long report on them by the end of the week." He glared at the class, silencing their moans of protest "Furthermore, it must be your own research, that means you can't just copy the details out of the textbook. And no copying either, anyone that submits a report on the same demon will lose ten points from Gryffindor, and receive a 'D' no matter HOW detailed their report was.

The class groaned at that, some of them looking at him in horror, and in the odd case betrayal, but nonetheless set about packing up their things for the day, eager to get a head start.

"Potter." Vergil called out, looking at the scarred teen out the corner of his eye as he walked past "I highly recommend you find a different Devil to report on." He held the teen's confused stare for a moment "But if you insist on continuing and need some additional information regarding Sparda, feel free to stop by my office later."

Harry blinked, before nodding, dashing off after his friends with a parting word of thanks to the Professor, who watched him go with an evaluative stare.

'Sparda huh?' Vergil muttered, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a gold amulet on a chain, gazing into the crimson depths of the jewel embedded in it as a wry smirk crossed his features 'Well father, it appears even the reclusive wizards may yet learn of your story.'

* * *

Trust Harry to be the one to stumble onto Sparda, eh? The boy really needs to do something about that annoying, danger fixation of his.

Neeldess to say, Umbridge isn't going to be reporting much to Fudge, as Pollux is keeping a dutiful eye on every owl leaving the castle. Pollux can do this because the Ministry, with typical ineptitude, did not factor House Elf Magic into the wards they place on their mail.

But then again, what self-respecting wizard (Harry and Hermione excepted) would suspect a House Elf to be tapping the line? Dumbledore sure as hell didn't, the Malfoys didn't, so why should Fudge, who makes Squibs look capable, suspect it?

This allows Vergil to skim the contents at his leisure, sometimes editing them to remove any trace of his activites, whilst leaving her reports on Dumbledore alone.

Hey, just because he's working for the guy doesn't mean he likes him. Fudge could care less about the rest of the faculty, with the notable exception of McGonagall, Snape and Hagrid, but Dumbledore's activities are his primary concern, so if they were removed from the letters, he'd doubtless grow suspicious.

Though considering his growing paranoia, that might not be so far off ;P

Keep on reviewin' fight fans!


	5. Chapter 5

And so the class' first project has been set, will Harry have any luck digging through centuries of wizarding censorship to find a HINT as to the epicness of Sparda?

This is Hogwarts, what do you think? Still, gotta love the boy for trying.

Unless you're Riddle, then you've every right to bitch about it.

* * *

Live Steel.

To say Harry Potter was stubborn was like saying the sky was blue or the government was corrupt, blatantly obvious and known to all. Had the boy been any less stubborn, he more than likely wouldn't be alive right now, and thwarting Voldemort's aspirations aside, the Boy Who Lived had no intention of peacefully drifting off the mortal coil just yet. For one thing he fully intended to see that Fudge, and his entire corrupt legislation, get their comeuppance.

That and get laid, though not specifically, or preferably, in that order.

But there was a price for stubbornness, and Harry was most certainly paying it as he trudged out of the library, defeated once again in his pursuit of information on the elusive Devil known only as 'Sparda'. Even Hermione, who was as notoriously bullheaded about information as Harry was about everything else, had encouraged him to take the easy way out and find another topic.

She herself had already completed her essay on the legend of Argosax the Chaos, a chaotic being that was apparently a mismatch of parts, a combination of the fiercest of beasts from the netherworld. If that wasn't bad enough, this particular devil was rumored to have been worshipped as a God at some point before being cast out by his oppressed followers with the help of the enigmatic Sparda.

"It's almost deliberate." Hermione muttered, shutting her reference book, an old, crumbling tome entitled 'Legends of Vie de Marli', with a sigh as she sat back in her chair in the Gryffindor common room "From the sounds of it, this Devil turns up several times throughout history, always on the side of humans, but it never goes into detail EXACTLY what he did."

"Still, he sounds pretty infamous." Ron muttered, finishing off his own report on a giant, spider-like devil that had merely been referred to as 'The Phantom' with a sigh "From the sounds of things, I wouldn't have wanted to bump into him if he can face off against guys like this without breaking a sweat."

"You could just do as the professor suggested…" Hermione offered placatingly, looking over at Harry in concern as the scarred teen flipped through his copy of the Encyclopedia Demonica with a possessed air "I mean, he did recommend a less difficult subject…"

"I can't." Harry muttered, cutting the brunette off, not unkindly, but with an air of determination that had seen him through four encounters with Voldemort and his lackeys thus far "I can tell by the way he looked at me, this is a test, he WANTS to see if I'll take the easy way out."

"Couldn't you just be overreacting?" Hermione began uncertainly, only to sigh and give up as Harry ignored her in favor of skimming through a book written by a Demonologist warlock that had lived through the crusades, which was mostly a collection of old legends and tales, centered around mankind's interactions with the occult.

* * *

All in all, it had been a rather good day. Angelina had met up with Harry, informing him of Quidditch practice that she had scheduled for lunchtime, followed by a rather enjoyable lesson in charms, and an even more enjoyable period of transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall put a strangely out of it Umbridge in her place, silencing the High inquisitor with a cutting comment and a look that Harry would have bet ten galleons could send even Voldemort packing. The teen made a note to bring an apple or something with him the next time he had her class.

Sadly, the day had taken a sharp turn when Umbridge turned up during their Care of Magical Creatures class, interrogating Professor Grubbly-Plank not only as to the specifics of her curriculum, but as to her opinion of the Headmaster, as well as once again digging for information regarding Hagrid's whereabouts. Fortunately, Professor Grubbly-Plank was as tight-lipped as everyone else had been, giving a clear-cut, textbook answer that actually seemed to please Umbridge despite herself.

It was at that point, just as Umbridge was about to start questioning the students, that Harry caught sight of a blue-clad figure walking out of the Forbidden forest, his eyes widening as he recognized Professor Vergil, his ever present Katana in his left hand as he made his way past Hagrid's hut.

He wasn't the only one that noticed, as the bowtruckles, which had been rather well behaved until that point, suddenly set up a clamor, thrashing around and lashing out at their captors in a panic, Malfoy's even managing to take a small bite out of his hand, sending the pureblood into a fit of panic as he feel to the ground, holding his bloody limb and shrieking.

"What on earth?" Professor Grubbly-Plank yelled, looking over the normally quiet tree-sprites in alarm as they fought desperately to escape from their confinement "What hap-NO! Don't knock over the-!"

Her warning came to late as Malfoy, in his terrified state, knocked over one of the cages holding the remaining bowtruckles, releasing the entire brood from confinement, the spindly-limbed sprites promptly racing for the safety of the forbidden forest, clambering over a terrified Umbridge, who's panicked shrieks did nothing to calm the already distressed sprites.

Needless to say, Malfoy got a stern talking to from the Professor for his over-reaction, followed by a whopping sixty points being deducted from Slytherin by an irate Umbridge, who had NOT enjoyed being included in the boy's clumsiness one bit.

"What do you think happened?" Ron asked, even as they set about packing up for bed, their homework more or less finished for the evening "I mean bowtruckles aren't normally that skittish right?"

Harry said nothing, as it was apparent that no-one else had noticed Professor Vergil leaving the woods, and didn't want to come off sounding paranoid. Admittedly, the new Professor gave him an unsettling feeling, a strange premonition that he wasn't entirely what he appeared to be, but it was nothing compared to the eerie feeling of wrongness he got whenever he was too close to Dolores Umbridge.

For one thing, his scar never reacted to the Professor, whereas he had to fight to keep from wincing the one time Umbridge had bumped into him, tripping him up while making it appear as if he'd stumbled over his own two feet.

Truth be told, he'd take the unsettling feeling he got from Professor Vergil over having to deal with Umbridge any time.

* * *

_DADA..._

"Today will be another practical lesson." Vergil called out, standing once more at the fore of the class, his hands resting on Yamato's pommel, silencing the excited whispers that followed this declaration with a glare "Gather your things and follow me. Single file and NO gossiping."

The class hurried to do so, eagerly lining up behind their blue-clad professor as he led them down the now familiar path to the room of requirement, promptly filing in as he closed the door behind them.

"Put your wands away and stand in a line before me." Vergil ordered, looking over the confused class authoritatively as they looked among themselves uncertainly "Sometime TODAY if you please."

He waited until the class did as they were told, a few of them muttering amongst themselves in obvious confusion. What kind of practical lesson didn't involve the use of wands? Admittedly Muggle Studies required getting your hands dirty but this was Defense Against the Dark Arts, the use of wands was paramount.

"Judging by your looks of confusion, you have seemingly forgotten the point of the last session we had in here." Vergil noted, fighting the urge to smirk as the class looked at him in confusion, though he noted Hermione, Neville and Harry's eyes widen in recognition "Most demons possess some form of resistance to magic, and Devils, being higher on the food chain, are almost nigh immune to it."

The class looked alarmed at this, Ron's face paling at the thought of going up against a monster like Phantom without the ability to use magic. He had a hard enough time stamping on regular spiders; he didn't need the image of a lava-spewing, stone-skinned behemoth lumbering down the corridors after him, brushing aside his feebly hurled curses.

"However," Vergil continued, looking upon their varying expressions in approval, as it showed they were paying attention "There is one key flaw in demons and Devils alike, a common weakness that humans throughout the ages have exploited…"

He drew Yamato from it's sheath with deliberate slowness, letting the elegant blade catch the light as the class looked on in awe. "Cold steel. Most lesser demons can be felled even with weapons as primitive as a spear or axe, though Devils may require a more serious handling." He smirked at them "There was one occasion where a farmer, in order to rescue his child, picked up a pitchfork and somehow managed to kill the demon attacking them by stabbing it in the throat. This is ironically where the old tradition of whipping out pitchforks for witch hunts came about."

By now the class was looking on him in total awe, several of them unable to believe such a story, while the rest were torn between gaping in awe at the professor and gazing longingly at his weapon, which even to their inexperienced eyes was a masterpiece.

"The reason I have brought you here." Vergil admitted "Is because while learning the theory behind devil-slaying is all well and good, it will do you no use if you find yourself in a situation where you cannot use your magic."

He snapped his fingers, the class startling as a House Elf apparated beside the professor, looking up at him reverently with a large trunk hovering just off the ground behind him. "Thank you, Pollux." Vergil offered, nodding at the elf in gratitude, even as he sheathed Yamato once more "Did you have any trouble?"

"No sir!" Pollux assured his master, his ears slapping audibly against the sides of his head as he shook it earnestly "Pollux is finding chest exactly where master is saying it would be."

"My thanks." Vergil offered solemnly, turning his attention back to the class as the elf offered him another polite bow, noting a slight frown on Hermione's face before continuing "From now on, at least once a weak, we will be practicing how to fight without the use of wands." He instructed, earning looks of shock from the class "You will be expected to keep up your skills on your own time, and you are to put as much effort into this as you would any other lesson." He shot a nervous looking Neville a calculative expression "Perhaps even more so, but for today, we will first determine which weapons suit you best. Longbottom, front and center."

Neville jumped, looking absolutely panic-stricken as he moved to stand before the professor, his face turning a sickly shade of pale as he looked between the man and the ominous trunk in trepidation.

"Let's see…" Vergil muttered, walking around the straight-backed teen with a calculating expression on his regal features "Good strong shoulders, long arms. Hands are a surprisingly nimble-looking for a boy." He glared as someone in the line gave an guilty snort "You don't look like you'll grow to be particularly tall, but your shoulders definitely imply you'll build up nicely."

His examination apparently complete, the professor turned his back on the flushing form of Neville and sending a nod towards Pollux, who obediently opened the trunk with a snap of his fingers. Reaching in, the Professor pulled out a small, average sized sword, about half the length of the sword of Gryffindor, but at least half again as wide, and presented the wrapped blade to Neville handle first "Take it."

* * *

Neville, blinking out of his daze at the order, stared from the offered hilt to the Professor's face, noting the serious expression there with a sense of alarm, before tentatively wrapping his fingers around the weapon, noting with some surprise that it fit his hand like a glove. Carefully, almost painstakingly, the clumsy Gryffindor unwrapped the cloth covering the blade and cross-guard, revealing a plain leather sheath that he removed to reveal a well polished blade.

Compared to the masterpiece that was Yamato, the blade was notably dull in comparison, but to Neville Longbottom, it was quite possibly the single most beautiful thing he'd laid eyes on that wasn't chlorophyll based in nature.

"From now on you will practice with that weapon as fervently as you fawn over your Herbology textbooks." Vergil instructed, snapping Neville out of his enawed marveling of the flawless blade "You will treat that sword as you would yourself, you will clean it, you will sharpen it, and you will WEILD it until you forget it was once a separate entity from yourself."

Neville nodded empathically in understanding, before stepping aside to stand near Pollux as instructed, gazing at his weapon in awe, even as the rest of the class muttered excitedly amongst themselves.

"Right, Weasley, you're up next." Vergil called out, Ron blinking in shock, before grinning and stepping forwards eagerly to be examined "Hmm…another one that won't be exceptionally tall." Vergil noted, causing the redhead's ears to turn pink "No need to get embarrassed Weasley, I'm merely saying you'll be of average height, which isn't all that bad." He snorted at the teen's look of embarrassment "Not only that, I can tell just by looking you'll be the type that charges in head first, and judging by your shoulders I'd say you'll be even stockier than Longbottom."

Nodding to himself, the professor once again turned his back on the teen and approached the trunk, Ron's eyes widening in eagerness, only to change to shock as Vergil pulled out not a sword, but a something like a cross between a spear and a lance.

"In chess," Vergil explained "a knight is not one with great attack strength, but a piece that can move quickly across the board to reach their objective." He held the weapon out to Ron "They are versatile pieces that can often be used to take down foes outside the reach of their compatriots. A pole-arm is best suited to this task, don't you think?"

Ron nodded excitedly, accepting the weapon from the professor and running his eyes over it excitedly as he walked over to stand next to Neville, even as Hermione was called up for examination.

"Admittedly, I have little experience with female Blademasters." Vergil stated, circling around the bushy-haired prefect as he spoke "And judging from your slight build, I'd say you'd be best sticking to wand craft than turning your hand to a blade." He caught the slight slump of her shoulders and frowned, before turning to the trunk and pulling out a weapon "Regardless, I am not above being proven wrong," he stated, holding out a rather fine looking falchion, a light, curved weapon with a double edged point "and I've heard Flitwick comment on your exemplary wrist control, I trust you'll find THIS weapon accommodating."

Hermione blushed at the compliment and accepted the weapon, blinking at how surprisingly light it felt, not much heavier than a broom really, before stepping to the side to marvel at the smoothness of the metal.

And so the lesson went, with Professor Vergil calling out names at random, giving a surprisingly accurate estimation that inspired hope in some and caused many to slump in depression, before finally turning his gaze towards Harry.

"I've heard a fair few tales about you, Potter." Vergil admitted, circling the Boy-Who-Lived as he spoke "Quite an impressive resume, most people your age are fortunate enough to escape the darkness once in their lifetime," he seemed to frown slightly at this, but it vanished before Harry could be certain "yet here you are, having come out of FIVE such instances alive, and for the most part, unharmed."

Harry's hand snapped self-consciously to his scar, earning a quirked eyebrow from the professor for his trouble, but thankfully the man didn't say anything about it.

"You definitely have the potential of being tall, Potter." Vergil acknowledged, a hint of approval in his tone "Taller than most of your classmates, hopefully you'll fill out a bit more than you are now."

Harry said nothing, though he did stand a little straighter as the professor continued to pace around him, like a breeder examining a foal. He'd always been a small for his age, so the idea that he may, should he survive whatever Voldemort had planned for him, grow to a good height was rather pleasing. He'd probably have to start paying more attention to what he ate too, if he wanted to fill out proportionately.

"Normally I'd recommend a pole-arm for someone with your height potential," Vergil admitted, looking over the Boy-Who-Lived carefully "But with your penchant for getting in tight spots," he smirked slightly as he caught the teen's eye "not to mention the rumors of your supposedly sharp reflexes, I think I can make an exception."

That said, the blue-clad professor turned to the trunk, reaching into it and pulling out a weapon that drew looks and gasps of amazement from the class, Harry's eyes widening in disbelief behind his spectacles as Vergil paced towards him, his eyes never leaving the weapon he was to wield.

It was a sword, undeniably so, but it was almost as tall as Harry himself, the blade about as wide as human palm pressed flat. The hand guard was actually part of the blade itself, the tip of the weapon a double edged point that looked just as capable used to stab an enemy as cleave them in two.

All in all, it looked like something Hagrid would use to butter his toast, rather than something you'd give to a teenage boy.

"A Zweihander," Vergil explained coolly, embedding the tip of the sword in the floor in front of Harry "a weapon originally designed to be used two handed, against mounted cavalry troops." He held Harry's eyes as he spoke, noting the alarm in those emerald depths with a hint of amusement "This one however, is a bit smaller than the norm, it weighs only half as much as a proper one, as even I wouldn't presume to see you try your luck with that." He nodded and stepped back, releasing the handle before gesturing with his free hand "Well? Give it a lift Potter."

* * *

Harry blinked, looking from the blue-clad professor to the weapon embedded before him as if in a daze, all too aware of the silence of the room around him, before firming his resolve and reaching out, wrapping his hands around the grip and lifting, actually straining to pull the weapon out of the ground, his shoulders actually popping as he swung it clumsily around to point in the air.

(Play the music from DMC when Dante received the Sparda.)

The edge seemed to catch the light as Harry looked over it, the teen marveling not only at the weapons weight, but also of its unnatural beauty. Moving as if in a daze, the teen swung the sword in a slow arc, letting the weight of the weapon do the work as he slashed sideways, down, diagonally before reversing his grip and slashing upwards. Clenching his teeth from the strain of supporting the weapon, the teen promptly squared his shoulders, spreading his feet wide as he put his entire body into a parallel swing that caused him to spin in a small circle, one hand releasing from the handle to steady himself as he came to a halt, standing with his knees partially bent and the blade pointing upwards behind him.

(Dante's pose from the DMC3 logo)

"Very impressive Potter." Vergil applauded, actually clapping his hands as he looked over the panting teen in approval, the rest of the class looking on in awestruck silence "Keep training with that and you'll most certainly fill out as you grow."

Harry, who had only managed to avoid falling to his knees from the strain by stabbing the point of his sword into the ground, could only gasp for breath as he looked up at the professor, wondering why on earth he'd felt the need to show off like that.

"Now then." Vergil called out, turning to address the class, who instantly snapped to attention under his commanding gaze "I will now show each of you how to properly wield those weapons," his lip quirked in a sardonic smirk "after all, it wouldn't do if you stabbed yourself in the foot on your first lesson, would it?" He instantly turned serious "But make no mistake, you WILL sweat buckets before I release you from this room, and you WILL make every attempt to familiarize yourselves with your weapons even when I do not say so."

* * *

Once he was absolutely sure he'd gotten their attention, he promptly divided the class into several groups, separating the pole-arms from the swords and so forth, before setting them about an easy series of paces to help them grow accustomed to their weapon. Harry, who was the only one not sorted into a group, looked on as the rest of the class set about learning to familiarize themselves with their blades, half of him feeling alienated, the other half glad fro the brief reprieve, looking over his weapon in wonderment as he leant on it for support.

Truth be told, there was something oddly appealing about the weapon, the feeling that had coursed through his body oddly akin to the one he'd long associated with Quidditch, a rush of adrenaline that made him seem more aware of his surroundings than usual.

But more than that, the blade seemed RIGHT in his hands, in the same way that his wand had felt right the day he'd picked it up from Ollivanders' shop all those years ago. Despite the burning of his shoulders, Harry honestly wished to try swinging the blade round again, just to get the feel of it once more.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Vergil commented, appearing out of nowhere next to the teen, causing Harry to jump slightly from the shock "There aren't many people that can use a Zweihander effectively in combat, but those who do usually turn out to be the most deadly of opponents."

Harry didn't doubt the man for a second, honestly praying that if he ever DID bump into someone that could wield a weapon like this, they were either on his side or a LONG way away.

"Now then, I trust you've rested enough for the moment?" the professor asked, though it was more of a statement really, looking over the teen with his cold blue eyes "You did quite well with that first test, but you put too much emphasis on your arms and back."

He reached out, readjusting Harry's grip as he pulled the weapon out of the ground, his hands guiding Harry's into a better grip "Don't knot your shoulders, keep them straight, but loose that you can move them without pulling something." He kicked the sides of Harry's feet "And widen your stance, balance is all important when wielding a weapon, if you loose your footing in a battle, it's all over."

Harry did as he was told, shuffling his feet wider apart and loosening his shoulders slightly, holding the stance even when Vergil released him and stepped back to evaluate him.

"Good, now I want you to perform a set series of strikes," he drew Yamato and moved into a similar stance as Harry's, bringing the blade down in a diagonal slash to the left "One." He slashed horizontally to the right "Two." He brought the blade up high, before bringing it down in a savage, double hand blow that gave one the impression he was cleaving a man in two "Three, repeat these movements at your own pace for now, but keep at it until I tell you to stop."

Harry nodded, looking drained but willing to start, and was about to start the exercise when he recalled his earlier predicament with the homework assignment and paused. "Sir?" the teen called out, catching the professor's attention as the man was walking away to supervise Ron, who'd somehow managed to get his lance stuck in the wall "About the assignment, you said if I wanted to continue with the topic I'd picked, you'd have some information that might help?"

Vergil turned to regard the youth before him, his cold blue eyes boring into Harry's emerald green, taking in the determination and stubbornness in the teen's eyes before nodding slowly. "See me tomorrow after your Hogsmeade visit." He ordered, turning his back on the boy and walking off to help Ron "I'll be in my office, come to me an hour before curfew." He leveled a glare over his shoulder at the teen "Do NOT be late."

Harry shivered, before nodding in understanding and turning his full attention to the drills before him, his teeth clenched as he brought his weapon down for the first slash "One…"

* * *

Needless to say by the time class ended for the day, the students were panting, sweating and exhausted, but the grins on their faces could not have been removed even under penalty of 100 points apiece.

"Tomorrow, as I understand it, is the day students are allowed to visit the village of Hogsmeade." Vergil called out, looking over the students authoritatively as they lined up before him, red faced but eagre "And while it is generally agreed you may do as you please tomorrow, I expect you all to remember the assignment I set for the following Monday." His eyes gripped them in an unbreakable hold "If you are late handing it in by so much as a day, I will deduct ten points from Gryffindor." He warned, his eyes narrowing as he spoke "Not to mention the points I will deduct if you copied someone else's work. Am I understood?"

The class nodded in exhausted understanding, many of them looking like they were rethinking their plans for the weekend, even as Neville sheathed his blade and made to hand it to Pollux.

"What are you doing, Longbottom?" Vergil called out, earning a look of confusion from the boy as he turned his head to glare at him "Did I not say you would treat that sword until it was part of you? That means it STAYS by your side until I say otherwise."

Neville, and quite a few members of the class, gaped at the man like he'd sprouted a second head, before whispering excitedly amongst themselves as Pollux moved among them with belts and harnesses for their weapons.

"Wicked!" Ron hissed, his face a mask of glee as he tightened his grip on his spear, which was apparently composed of several sections, meaning it could be broken down for easy handling "You think he'll let us keep them?"

"I doubt it." Hermione muttered, though there was an idly hopeful tone as she looked over her own falchion, admiring the blade and sheath with a hint of a smile on her face, even as Pollux helped her slip the sheath into the customized belt she was to wear it on.

Harry looked over his own weapon with trepidation, knowing there was probably no way in hell he was going to be allowed to carry his, only to blink as Pollux held up what looked like a harness of tough leather and metal that went across his back and shoulders, the blade resting there easily, supported at the bottom by a small cup. (Guts' sheath for his first sword in the Berserk Backstory arc.)

"Also," Vergil spoke up, looking over the excited students with approval as they marveled over their new accessories "I would suggest you bring a change of NORMAL clothing with you whenever we train here, it wouldn't do to have to keep sending off for new school robes, would it?"

That said, he promptly dismissed them, opening the door and seeing them off one by one with the occasional odd word of advice, sending Harry a parting look as they passed, which the teen returned with a nod.

* * *

Umbridge was returning from interviewing Filch, confident that she had gained the Squib caretaker's allegiance in her campaign to change how things worked at Hogwarts, when she was met with the sight of a group of students marching down the hallway towards her, armed to the proverbial teeth, their excited faces shifting into a dark scowl as they caught sight of her.

She would later be sent to the Nurses Office, after suffering injuries incurred by making the mistake of leaping out a tenth story window and missing the lake below by a foot.

* * *

Bwahahahaha! Dumbledore's army indeed!

It's a good thing Fudge's mail's being censored, or the minister'd have the aurors out by now, ne?

For those wondering about Harry's sword, imagine a cross between Nero's Red Queen and Asuna's Pactio weapon from Negima (Ensis Exorseans: Executioner's Sword).

Also, the reason I selected a Zweihander for Harry is simple: This is DMC, what self respecting hero DOESN'T have an over-the-top, bad ass sword? (Vergil is the expection, but then Yamato can slice through hell gates so who's complaining?)

Also, just for the sake of reassuring you: only fifth years and upwards get weapons, as even Vergil isn't so bad as to give first-to-fourth years a more in depth glance into his world. They'll stick with theory and like it.

R&R PLZ!


	6. Chapter 6

For those wondering, I have misplaced my copy of OOTP, and so updating the next few chapters may take some time, as I'm more or less sticking to Rowling Cannon with a Vergil twist.

That said, Harry learns a little more than he bargained for this time around, let's see how he puts it to use.

* * *

The Legend of Sparda.

Harry groaned as he sat up in bed the next morning, his entire body a mass of sores and stiff muscles as he clambered out of bed, only to be met by looks of equal discomfort on the faces of his roommates.

"Bloody Hell…" Ron swore, popping his back into place as he leant against the pillar of his bed for support, thumping his stiff shoulders in a bid to loosen them up "S'like that time Fred and George hid a bludger in my room and didn't tell me."

"Reminds me of the time I got into a rugby scrum with my cousin." Dean moaned, his entire body creaking as he stumbled towards his trunk "Daft twat weighed as much as a rhino and he kept piling on me with his mates."

Harry, who was used to rough treatment after years of abuse from the Dursleys, simply held his silence and turned his attention to the sword and harness he'd placed on the side of his trunk, looking over it in awe as he marveled once again over it's deadly beauty.

"Still," Seamus muttered, an eager grin on his face as he pulled out his own weapons, a rather deadly looking pair of axes that he twirled, carefully, in small circles before him so they caught the light "Well worth it don't you think."

"Definitely." Ron agreed, pulling out his own weapon from it's satchel, shaking it out and turning the central grip, causing the pole-arm to clack into place, marveling over the weapon as he set about checking it over as instructed "You think the Slytherins got anything like this?"

"Prof Vergil doesn't strike me as the type that picks favorites." Dean muttered, looking non-too pleased at that idea any more than the rest of them "At the very least he's only handed out weapons to the fifth years and up. I heard a couple of First-years complaining last night."

Harry, shivering at the image of facing off against the entire Slytherin House, armed to the teeth and wielding unforgivable curses, promptly shrugged it off as he slipped his harness over his clothes, the weight of his weapon sending a comforting feeling through the teen, who dimly wondered if Malfoy had anything as impressive.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione called out, waving at the teen from the common room, her Falchion at her waist and a book bag over her shoulder as she waved at the duo "Have you finished your essays?"

"I'm stopping by Professor Vergil's office later today for a little help with mine." Harry admitted, earning a look of surprise from Ron "He said he'd help me out a bit with source material if I didn't change my mind."

"Well at least you're getting somewhere then…" Hermione reasoned, looking a bit uncertain as they made their way past a group of envious Second years and down the steps to the main hall, eager to get some breakfast into them before setting off.

The sight as they entered the hall was one to see, as most of the older students, from fifth year upwards, were comparing weapons with their peers, some of them sending looks across the tables to see what the other houses were sporting.

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, looking rather smug as he walked along with an impressive looking saber at his hip, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who were looking decidedly more troll-like with their morning star and spiked gloves respectively. The Slytherin git caught sight of Harry and smirked, apparently believing that Harry's lack of a belt sheath implied he hadn't rated a weapon, only to pale, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as Harry turned, deliberately, to reveal the weapon harnessed across his back.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Ron cackled, watching as Malfoy stormed off, his face a mask of jealous, impotent rage at being shown up, once again, by the Boy-Who-Lived "Teach him to go around acting all tough."

"Boys…" Hermione sighed, shaking her head at the redhead's immaturity, looking up at the table to find Professor Vergil finishing his breakfast, apparently heedless of the disapproving look he was receiving from McGonagall "Umbridge is missing."

"Who cares?" Ron muttered, stuffing himself with bacon and eggs, a look of complete disinterest on his face "Maybe she got the message and left, there's nothing wrong with Hogwarts and never will be."

Harry, however, had a distinct feeling that something was up, but decided that it could wait till later as he finished his breakfast and lined up with the rest of his year for the Hogsmeade inspection, which was being carried out by a decidedly nervous looking Filch, who didn't feel too confident in the face of so many armed Students.

The fact that Fred and George were visibly leering at him from the back, unsubtly letting the light catch off their weapons, was most likely a prime factor.

* * *

Hogsmeade...

Vergil walked along the street of Hogsmeade looking over the quaint, almost rustic village with a cool, calculating expression, as if looking for imperfections in a piece of artwork.

He had to admit that the fact such a large settlement had been kept an absolute secret from the general public was an amazing feat. Hogwarts he could understand, as old, magical castles usually had a spell or two to keep them hidden, but an entire village? And the train station that connected it?

That said, there really wasn't that much that interested him. A few paltry shops that catered to the tastes of the villagers and the occasional student visits, a joke shop that sold the magical variety, which he admitted were a TAD more impressive than the muggle variant, but still infantile to a man of his caliber.

'Doubtless Dante would buy out half the store before they kicked him out.' The blue-clad man snorted, shaking his head at the memory of his estranged twin, who last he'd heard had been trying to make a name for himself in the devil hunting business 'The idiot always DID enjoy clowning around.'

He passed by the occasional student now and then, the town was filled with them for the weekend, a few of them gaping at his in surprise, others offering a shy greeting which he returned in passing, until they started taking steps to avoid him, one group of Slytherins actually turning tail and running at the sight of him, a group he recalled looking extremely panicked over the punishment he'd set for failing to hand in their essays.

'For a group that seek out power and influence, they certainly aren't that bright or dedicated.' The blue-clad man noted, shaking his head in disgust as he continued along his way to the Three Broomsticks, a bar that Dumbledore had recommended he visit if he had the time.

As it were, he was meeting up with a few other professors here for a drink, apparently Flitwick's idea at bringing them all together, an invitation he would have refused, were it not for Dumbledore's insistence.

'Damn that old man and his twinkling eyes.' Vergil muttered, cursing himself for being led along like a bull on a tether 'The second this year is finished I'm taking my information and turning him into Sashimi!'

"Professor Vergil?" a voice called out, snapping the man out of his daze as he looked round to find himself standing in the Broomsticks, his eyes alighting on the owner of the voice, namely a surprised Hermione Granger "What are you doing here?"

"I believe I should be asking you that." Vergil shot back with a quirked eyebrow, earning a light blush from the brunette "A prefect, in a bar? What kind of example are you setting Miss Granger? And you, Mr. Weasley?"

"Oh lighten up sir." Madam Rosamerta chuckled, walking along with the trio's order of butterbeer on a tray "I never serve hard liquor to minors, and there's nothing like a butterbeer on a cold day like today."

"Quite." Vergil noted, looking over the barkeeper with an evaluating stare that earned a slight flush from the older woman, before turning his attention to the golden Trio "To answer your question Miss Granger, I'm meeting up with a group of Professors for a little get together." He eyed the bar slowly "Though it would appear I'm early."

"Want to sit with us for a bit sir?" Harry asked, earning a shocked look from Ron, who almost choked on his Butterbeer at his mate's daring to suggest such a thing "I mean, it's better than sitting alone, right?"

Vergil leveled a look at the Boy-Who-Lived that made him rethink his offer, only to nod once, flipping his coat tails so they weren't trapped under him as he pulled up a chair at their table, ordering a bottle of Firewhiskey when prompted by Madam Rosamerta.

"Quaint little place." He noted, looking around the bar with his usual evaluative stare, though he seemed notably more relaxed than he appeared in class "Rustic, but there's a certain Charm to it."

"Flattery will get you everywhere sir." Madam Rosamerta joked, smiling down at him as she walked past with tray of drinks, setting down his bottle of Firewhiskey and a clean glass "Just for that, the first one's on me."

Vergil bowed his head in thanks, before popping the cork on the bottle and pouring himself half a glass of the stuff and holding it up to his face. To the surprise of the trio, the professor took a brief, cultured sniff of the drink, his eyes closed as if savoring the smell, before downing it in one go, not even flinching as it burned it's way down his throat.

'Dante would kill for a bottle of this.' He noted, an approving smile appearing on his face as he looked over the empty glass, before catching sight of Ron's longing glance towards the bottle "Care to try some?"

"P-PROFESSOR!" Hermione gasped, looking mortified at the very idea, even as Harry and Ron looked up in interest, the redhead's eyes practically glowing with eagerness "We can't…we're Prefects! And Underage!"

"And I'm a Professor," Vergil countered, flagging down three smaller glasses from a concerned looking Rosamerta "if any problems arise, I'll accept full responsibility." He allowed a small smirk to come to his face "Besides, I was about your age when I had my first drink."

"Wicked." Ron beamed, his face a mask of eagerness as Vergil poured the whiskey into the shot glasses, the trio accepting them with mixed expressions, Hermione's one of concern and Harry's one of interest.

"Down the hatch." Vergil quipped, lifting up his own half glass of the stuff in a toast, before downing it in another swift go, smirking as the trio's cough's followed their own, virgin attempts at mimcking him "Strong stuff huh?"

"Throat…on…fire…!" Ron gasped, tears streaming from his eyes as he pounded on his chest, Harry slapping him companionably on the back, the dark haired boy's eyes tearing up behind his glasses "Blimey! That was…!"

"A man's drink, no offence Miss Granger." Vergil quipped, smirking at them as he poured himself yet another half glass from the bottle "Now don't go asking for more, for one thing I don't need McGonagall breathing down my neck any more than she already has."

* * *

If the trio had any complaints they didn't voice them, as they were too concerned with cooling the fire in their throats with butterbeer. Ron, after calming down somewhat, had a content smile on his face that made Vergil question the redhead's alcohol tolerance, but turned out to be smugness, as not even the twins had managed to swipe a drink yet despite their best efforts.

The conversation then turned to the trio's lessons outside DADA and their general everyday lives. Vergil didn't particularly care one way or the other, but there was a protocol to followed when sitting with others, and while he was loathe to follow the edicts of mortal society, he adhered to their principles of good manners and behavior, which had been drum rolled into him by his mother years ago.

"So you're the second youngest." He noted, looking over at Ron as the redhead finished his third bottle of Butterbeer in the one sitting "I suppose having a large family must be quite the experience."

"You've no idea." Ron moaned, shaking his head "Don't get me wrong, I love my family and all, but everything I've ever had has been hand-me-downs from my brothers. Bill and Charlie aren't too bad, and Fred and George can be alright so long as they don't decide to test their pranks on you."

"A Family of five boys and one girl." Vergil noted, a slight smirk coming to his features as he shook his head, reminded of the hell, pun most certainly intended, he and Dante had put their mother, Eva, through "I pity your poor mother."

"Six." Ron countered, his face suddenly going sour as he glared down at his Butterbeer in disgust "I've got FIVE older brothers. Or I HAD until the prat decided his cushy job at the ministry was more important."

Vergil quirked an eye at that but said nothing, simply watching as the redhead downed the enter contents of his bottle of Butterbeer in one go and ordered another, amidst looks of concern from his friends "And I believe you said your parents are dentists, Miss Granger?" he asked, subtly changing the subject "I take it was quite a shock when you received your acceptance letter."

"Very much so." Hermione agreed, eager to change the topic away from the estranged Percy, who was as good as disowned as far as the rest of the Weasleys, with the exception of the Molly, were concerned "Though they seem to have gotten more used to it over time. I think Mr. Weasley helped a lot to put their minds at rest, he and dad spent a whole day explaining the differences between muggle and wizarding tooth care."

Harry had a brief image of a grinning Mr. Weasley, dentist Drill in hand bearing down on a terrified Voldemort, who was being restrained, wand-less, in a dentist's chair, and couldn't help the warm smile that crossed his face.

"And what about you, Potter?" Vergil asked, turning his attention away from Hermione, who was explaining to Ron that dental crown was NOT the same as the one worn by kings and other monarchs "Anything to share about your family?"

"Not much other than they're total prats." Ron muttered, earning a stern look from Hermione for his trouble "What? It's what they are isn't it? The bastards actually locked Harry in a cupboard under the stairs for most of his life!"

Vergil looked at Harry, noting the discomfort in the teen's green eyes but said nothing, waiting for the boy to speak on his own. "I was relieved when I first got to Hogwarts." Harry admitted, looking at his Butterbeer as he spoke "It was the first time I was out from under their thumb, I couldn't believe how good it felt to be with people that didn't treat me like a freak."

Vergil's face darkened at that, his hand subconsciously tightening around Yamato's sheath as he recalled an incident from his and Dante's childhood, where a group of older boys had referred to the pale, white haired children by that very title. The fact the twins had beaten them off, despite being half their age and size, had only cemented their title as the 'Freak Twins'.

Needless to say, this had NOT done much for Vergil's sense of humanity.

"By the way Professor." Hermione spoke up, drawing the man out of his thoughts, her eyes shining with interest "If you don't mind me asking, what made you decide to take up Demonology?"

Vergil blinked, looking over at the brunette, as if trying to puzzle out what she said, only to smile, a slow, unsettling smirk that set the trio on edge or some reason "I suppose you could say it…runs in the family." He opined, chuckling softly to himself as his thoughts turned once more to the purpose of his taking up Dumbledore's offer "Devils that is."

The trio blinked at him in confusion, only to look up as the door to the Broomsticks opened to reveal Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout, who were looking a little flustered from the chill, the Deputy Headmistress' eyes easily catching them out of the crowd.

"Potter, Weasley, Granger?" she exclaimed, looking over the trio in surprise, as if not expecting them to be here, before catching sight of the bottle of Firewhiskey and scowling pointedly at Vergil "Professor Vergil! What do you think you're-!"

"I merely sat down for a drink with my students, Professor McGonagall." Vergil assured the witch, looking non-plussed as he turned to face her "They were here when I arrived and it was better than waiting alone for you to show-up." He nodded towards the bottle of Firewhiskey "If THAT is your concern then rest assured, all they've consumed this evening is Butterbeer, I hear it wards off the chill quite nicely."

"Well…yes I suppose it does." McGonagall muttered, a faint blush covering her cheeks as she shot a grinning Ron a look that promised detention if he so much as snorted in her general direction "Anyway, run along you three, it's almost time for students to return."

"Potter." Vergil called out, pausing Harry in the doorway as the trio made their escape from the bar, Hermione nagging a grinning Ron about playing with fire "Remember; my office, before curfew."

* * *

As the Trio scamper off...

"What was that about?" Flitwick asked, the diminutive Charms Master looking after the famous teen's retreating back, as he made his escape along with his friends, heading back towards the castle.

"Potter asked me for advice regarding an assignment I set down." Vergil admitted, moving his chair to make room for the other professors at the table "But enough about that, what took you so long?"

"My apologies." McGonagall offered, a scowl lining her features as she pressed her lips together in a firm line "But High Inquisitor Umbridge thought it was her 'duty' to accompany us to 'inspect' the bar."

"Such a shame she forgot about the ice going down the steps." Professor Sprout noted, the usually jolly witch's face lined with hidden mirth "Didn't do her leg any favors falling down them like that."

"Nor did the dip in the lake I'll wager." Flitwick added, his body trembling with controlled laughter "It's a good think the Squid was asleep this time of day or a cold would've been the least of her worries."

"Oh I wouldn't be too concerned about that." Vergil assured the man, earning a look of confusion from his senior staff members "You know what they say about fools and colds after all."

Needless to say, by the end of the evening, Vergil was quite certain even McGonagall had seemed less reserved around him.

* * *

An hour before curfew...

A knock came from the door to Vergil's office, the Professor looking up from his cleaning of Yamato to admit the visitor entrance.

"Potter." He greeted, not looking up from his task as the teen slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him "On time, I like that. Punctuality is a trait that many tend to lack in this day and age." He nodded to the chair across from him, "Have a seat?"

Harry nodded, sinking into the high-back chair gratefully, leaning his weapon against the side as he gazed around the sparsely decorated room in confusion, and a hint of curiosity. Even Lupin, who'd come here with the clothes on his back and not much else, had managed to make the office appear lived in.

Vergil, however, had seen no need to decorate the room to his tastes, as he didn't intend to return after the year was over, and possessed rather Spartan tastes as it was. The less cluttered a room the better in his opinion, give him a bed, a closet, a desk and a place to bathe and he couldn't be happier.

As it were, the youth turned his attention to the Professor, noting that he had removed his coat, leaving him in his dark shirt and waistcoat, his bare arms amazingly pale and muscular in the firelight as he diligently went over his weapon with an air of experience, checking for the slightest imperfection in that beautiful cutting edge.

"There is a book on the mantle, Potter." Vergil instructed, snapping the teen out of his examination without taking his eyes away from Yamato's maintenance "You'll find it most helpful in completing your assignment, but I must INSIST that you make your notes here." He looked up, holding the teen's eyes in an unshakeable grip "That book is one of a kind, and were it not for your obvious interest in Sparda, I would never have considered showing it to you."

Harry nodded in understanding, having expected some sort of stipulation in exchange for the professor's aid, before rising from his seat and crossing to the mantle, picking up the sole book, a small tome backed with purple velvet, his eyes looking over the title in confusion, unable to comprehend the outlandish text written in what looked to be shockingly red ink.

"First time seeing Infernal text Potter?" Vergil called out, sheathing his blade and placing it beside his chair, as he looked up at the confused teen "I'm not surprised, most of the few books that exist today are often kept in hidden libraries, or some occult fanatics collection."

"Infernal sir?" Harry repeated, looking from the outlandish title in trepidation, as his Scar had begun, not to hurt, but feel discomfortingly warm "You mean, this was written by demons sir?"

"That or a mortal that was in the service of demons." Vergil allotted, looking over the tome with a calculative expression "The fact it's written in a mortal tome would imply the latter, demon texts are generally wrapped in mortal flesh."

Harry flinched slightly at that, recalling seeing a book that matched that description once in the forbidden section of the library, but chose not to say anything about it. For one thing he hadn't had permission to be there, and Madam Pince was always looking for a reason to ban students. "But sir, how can this help me?" he asked instead, holding up the velvet clad book for emphasis "I mean if I can't even read it…"

"The interesting thing about Infernal text…" Vergil cut in, his tone as relaxed as if he was commenting on the weather, and not demon-speak "is that it has a way of making itself understood. Even an illiterate can find himself absorbed in a text that could take dedicated scholars years to translate a single line."

Harry didn't like the sound of THAT one whit, as he'd heard tell of cursed books during his second year. Voldemort's diary aside, there were countless books out there that had a variety of nasty surprises, such as a book that, once started, couldn't be put down, or a book that burned the flesh off the hands of those that touched it without permission.

"Relax, Potter." Vergil assured the teen, easily seeing the unease in those green eyes and holding his gaze steadily "I received that text as a down payment from Dumbledore I doubt he'd be foolish to give me something that could prove dangerous if a student happened across it."

Harry blinked at that, honestly surprised that Dumbledore would possess such an item, even as a bargaining chip, but steadied himself in the confidence that, even if he didn't particularly feel like talking to the man, the Headmaster hadn't steered him wrong so far. Thus prepared, he turned his attention to the title of the book, gazing upon the red ink as it glowed in the dull light of the fire, ignoring the dull warmth from his scar as he gazed upon the text, which slowly seemed to swirl, like water running down the drain, into various languages, yet somehow managing to remain the same.

The title fluctuated between various languages and texts, Harry recognizing a few, notably the French and German from his time in muggle school, as well as a few abstract ones that he dimly recognized as oriental in nature, blinking to clear his gaze only to find the title had come to a halt, the text looking up at him in perfect English:

The Legend of Sparda.

* * *

An hour later found Harry sitting in his chair, completely engrossed in the text before him. The teen's green eyes were wide, taking in every detail of the text before him and committing as much of it to memory as he could, his quill practically dancing across the sheets of parchment he'd brought with him as he took down more and more of Sparda's accomplishments.

"That's enough, Potter." Vergil called out, startling the boy out of his trance with a hand on his shoulder, looking down at the Boy-Who-Lived with a careful expression, noting how the boy's hand was shaking from exhaustion "I think it would be best if you looked into some mental defense lessons. A mortal may have drafted that book, but it's still Infernal text. There have been those who allowed themselves to become consumed by the contents, literally, wasting away or being driven to the brink of madness from overexposure."

Harry said nothing, truth be told he was too emotionally drained to say anything at the moment, it took everything he hand to keep his chin off his chest, his eyes blinking up at the professor, half shut with the strain from warding off sleep.

"Pollux." Vergil called out, removing the book from Harry's unresisting hand and returning it to the mantle as the elf popped into existence behind him "Escort Mr. Potter back to his bed in Gryffindor tower, would you?"

"Pollux will gladly assist the great Harry Potter, sir." The elf replied with an eager salute, earning a quirked eyebrow from his master "Great Harry Potter is hero of all oppressed folk, though House Elves not minding being servants."

"I see." Vergil noted, though in truth he really DIDN'T see the point, simply turning his back as Pollux gathered up Harry's things and the teen himself before disappearing in a burst of magic, no doubt teleporting the lad to his bed despite the anti-apparating wards that the ministry was so CERTAIN could keep threats off the grounds.

'HUMAN threats maybe.' Vergil muttered, smirking to himself as he slipped his coat over his shoulders, the room around him shifting as he suddenly found himself inside the room of requirement, which had taken on the bloody, flesh-like visage of the Bloody Palace's more dangerous levels, a horde of Nobodies gathering around him, cackling insanely 'But there are Far more dangerous things out there than humans.'

The first Nobody leapt at him even, a hungry cackle tearing from it's lips even as Yamato's blade sang from it's sheath, their cackles changing from eager to panicked as the slaughter began.

* * *

And so Harry gets his first proper taste of the Demon world, albeit a watered down version.

I based the subject of Infernal text of of several sources and my own musings. Those that notice similarites to other works, you're probably right.

How'll Harry use his newfound knowledge?


	7. Chapter 7

For those of you wondering, this work will be updating much slower than the norm, until I find my damned OOTP book.

Vergil's methods are NOT going to make him popular with the Slytherins. Yes he desires power, but he frowns upon those that act dishonorably or cowardly.

If he or Dante had been sorted years ago, I'm fairly certain that the war between Slytherin and Gryffindor would've torn the walls down around them, so I can only imagine his disdain for the cowardly backstabbers that are supposed to be the 'most cunning, power hungry' of their peers.

As Sonofsparda13's rendition put it, when Vergil stabs someone in the back, he does it to their face.

That said, on with the show! How will Harry's glimpse into the dark side affect the Boy Who Lived Despite Voldie's Best Efforts?

* * *

Educational Decree.

When Harry awoke that morning, several hours before he had any reason to do so, it was to find himself tucked into his bed, dressed in his pajamas and with his sword and notes from last night resting on his trunk.

He'd stared at them at first, wondering how on earth he'd gotten here, only for his face to settle into a determined frown as he pulled himself out of his bed, grabbed his notes, and made for the common room, quill and parchment in hand.

He would be found later by the first early risers, still writing furiously at a table covered with his notes, only pausing once to take a shower and change into his robes for the morning, before returning once again to his assignment, earning looks of awe from the onlookers at the dedication and concentration on his face, quite a few of them making up rumors about him planning to overthrow Fudge as the next Minster for Magic by the time the rest of the tower was awake.

"Bloody Hell Harry." Ron muttered, the stunned redhead prefect coming down the steps from their dorm to find his nest friend writing away like a man possessed "What got in your bonnet?"

"Finally got some notes on Sparda." Harry replied, his eyes never leaving his parchment as he jotted down line after line from the notes he'd obtained the previous night. True he'd only managed to read a few chapters of the Dark Knight's tale, but that was more than enough to cover the two-foot roll of parchment required, and then some.

"Blimey." Ron whistled, running his eyes over the collection of notes, his eyes widening as he read over some of the Dark Knight's accomplishments "Get a load of this! Apparently he fought off an assassin that tried to behead Merlin!"

"Well he WAS around over two thousand years ago." Hermione reasoned, looking over Harry's almost four-foot roll of parchment with approval, "It stands to reason he bumped into a few historical figures during the course of his life."

"More than a few by the looks of it…" Ron muttered, flipping through Harry's notes with wide eyes "Blimey, this fellow got around! He's shown up in Europe, Asia, hell he even sealed up a hell mouth in some town in America!"

"Well at least I've gotten the report finished for now." Harry muttered, finishing off his essay with a relieved sigh, as it was due later today, and tucking it away into his book bag, strapping his sword over his shoulder with a grunt "You want to get some breakfast?"

"Before that, I think you'd better take a look at this Harry." Hermione muttered, the grim expression on her face setting the teen's guard up as he followed her over to the notice board, which had been covered, as if overnight, by a giant sign that obscured all the other posts, Harry's eyes narrowing as he read over Umbridge's latest attempt at wrestling control over Hogwarts for herself.

"She just doesn't give up, does she?" Harry muttered, the boy who lived shaking his head in disgust as the rest of the common room started nattering away about their respective clubs being shut down "I mean bloody hell, what do student clubs have to do with the ministry?"

"Well they CAN provide a distraction from exams…" Hermione reasoned, only to wave her hands defensively at Harry and Ron's deadpan expressions "I'm speaking from a teacher's point of view! McGonagall told us we'd have to cut down on club activities for the OWL exams, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Ron recalled, shaking his head at the memory, though the frown remained on his face "But McGonagall didn't mind us attending clubs so long as we kept up our studies, Umbridge just had them disbanded because she's a bi-!"

"RON!" Hermione hissed, cutting him off mid-swear as a group of first years walked past, looking up at him innocently, the redhead turning pink about the ears as he snapped his mouth shut "Anyway, we'd best keep on our toes around Umbridge for now-!"

"HARRY! RON!" Angelina called out, the two friends turning to find the Gryffindor Captain and chaser racing towards them, red in the face and frantic "She's included Quidditch in this! We need to ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!"

"SUNNUVABITCH!"

"RON!" Hermione gasped, clapping a hand over the irate redheads mouth as he began mouthing off profanities, the twins cheering him on and throwing in a few of their own even as Hermione tried to hex them with silencing charms.

* * *

Needless to say, Harry was NOT in a good mood as he made his way to History of Magic with professor Binns. Not only was he going to have to watch his mouth around Umbridge, who had lately been handing out detentions for saying the wrong thing in her presence, but he'd actually have to make an effort to be polite to her if it came down to it.

Quite frankly, the Boy Who Lived much preferred the idea of slashing the ministry toady in confetti, a sentiment shared by the majority of the school, including the faculty.

Therefore, when Hedwig tapping on the window of Binns' class snapped him out of his daze, he was NOT pleased to find his faithful companion injured, with signs of being manhandled. There was a limit, after all, to how much bullshit a person could take before they snapped, and Harry was reaching the breaking point all to quickly in the short time since Umbridge had set foot on Hogwarts' grounds.

Surprisingly though, it was NOT Harry who snapped first under Umbridge's machinations, though Malfoy's indirect taunting at having the Slytherin Team reformed immediately DID come close to snapping his hair trigger, nor was it Ron, despite the prats' mockery of the redhead's father.

Rather, the duo found themselves struggling to hold back an enraged Neville Longbottom, who was brandishing his sword in a manner that would make a rabid Viking berserker reconsider his charge. It certainly unsettled Crabbe and Goyle, who were backing away anxiously from the frothing teen, earning a confused look from Malfoy, who remained ignorant of the danger due to Harry and Ron's dragging their fellow Gryffindor out of sight.

* * *

"Blood Hell Neville!" Ron gasped, pulling the enraged Gryffindor back and away from the door, even as Snape came out to see what the problem was "I'm all for giving Malfoy a right lump or ten but if you attacked him with that you'd get expelled!"

"I don't care!" Neville spat, looking particularly livid as he continued to glare at the ignorant Slytherin, though he gradually lowered his sword arm as he calmed down "I won't let him get off insulting St Mungo's!"

Harry said nothing, understanding Neville's motive for reacting as he did all to clearly, patting the teen comfortingly on the back, feeling the tension seep out of his muscles. He was actually grateful, for if Neville hadn't snapped when he did, Harry was CERTAIN that it would've been him being hauled off…and with people questioning his sanity, he didn't need to be adding fuel to the fire.

As it were, they waited a few seconds for Neville to compose himself properly, before shuffling into Snape's class at the back of the cue, ignoring the piercing stare from the hook-nosed Potions Master as he slammed the door shut to silence the chatter.

"As you may have noticed." Snape announced in his low, sneering voice that reminded Harry of grease and oil "we have a guest with us today."

Sure enough, the class whipped round to find Dolores Umbridge sitting in a corner, clipboard on her knee and looking like she had every right to be there. Snape, of course, gave off every impression that he didn't see things her way, but instead turned to face the class, ordering them to continue where they left off with strengthening solutions.

Umbridge, surprisingly, spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes, keeping quiet in her little corner while the class worked away. Harry, eager despite himself to watch the battle of Greasy Evil versus Toady Evil, was only paying half the attention he should have been on his potion, listening in, instead, on the conversation between the two as Umbridge finally broke her silence.

"Well, this class seems fairly advanced for their level." The High Inquisitor noted briskly, addressing Snape's back as she spoke, as he was currently indulging in his second favorite pastime of terrorizing Neville "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus."

The whole class seemed to fall silent as Snape straightened up, slowly, like the fearsome creation of an unassailable mountain range, before turning to look down on her from on high.

"Now then," Umbridge noted, apparently unaware of the oppressive atmosphere that was gathering around her as she held her quill over her clipboard "How long have you been teaching here at Hogwarts?"

"Fourteen years." Snape replied, his expression remaining as unfathomable as ever, though even a simpleton could detect the undeniable malice in his tone. Harry, straining to listen to the conversation, failed to notice his hands moving of their own accord, carefully adding his ingredients to the simmering cauldron without his consciously ordering them to do so.

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Umbridge asked, and Harry noted a hint of unprofessional interest in the woman's tone "But you were…unsuccessful?"

"Obviously." Snape countered, his lip curling in a sneer that Harry had always assumed was reserved for HIM. For some reason, it made him unusually jealous to think that someone else could rate such an expression.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" Umbridge asked, either unaware or uncaring to the salt she was rubbing into the obviously open wound.

"I would suggest you ask him yourself." Snape replied jerkily, his hand making a small, almost unnoticeable twitch, to where Harry suspected the man kept his wand "And I suppose this is RELEVANT?"

"Oh yes," Umbridge assured him, her eyes dancing maliciously as she regarded the Potions Master over the rim of her clipboard "the Ministry wants a THUROUGH understanding of teachers'…BACKGROUNDS."

Harry didn't doubt for a second that Umbridge's glee was directed, not at Snape, but towards a certain Defense Against Dark Arts Professor that was proving to be a direct thorn in the Ministry's plans, the teen glaring at the Inquisitor's back as she turned to question Pansy Parkinson about the lessons, only to turn round and find him locking gazes with Snape.

They stared at one another, the Boy Who Lived and his father's enemy, who had admittedly, at one point, indirectly seen to it that Harry didn't come to harm in his first year in order to pay off a life debt. Then their gaze broke, and Harry turned his attention back to his potion, only to blink as he gazed upon the perfectly brewed Solution that was simmering before him.

"Well Mr. Potter." Snape noted, his lip curling in that ever-familiar smirk once more, though there was a hint of grudging approval there too "It seems your luck continues…but will it hold?"

Harry honestly had nothing to say to that, as he was too busy trying to figure out how the hell he'd managed to pull it off.

* * *

After an admittedly interesting period of Divination, interesting in that Professor Trelawney actually had a REASON to be so overly dramatic this time, though Harry and Ron really could've cared less, the class scuttled eagerly down to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, filing into the classroom and sitting alert at their desks, even as Professor Vergil shut the door behind him.

"Now then," he called out, looking over them all with a calculative expression, palms atop Yamato's pommel once more "I believe I had an assignment set for today…"

He trailed off, scowling as a knock came from the door, his eyes glaring at the portal, as if he could see through it, the class knowing instantly who was on the other side, their fears confirming themselves as Umbridge let herself without waiting to be asked. "Hello Professor." The High Inquisitor greeted, her pointy teeth proudly on display as she swept into the room clipboard in hand "I was wondering if I could-!"

"I do NOT recall receiving any messages regarding an inspection today, Miss Umbridge." Vergil pointed out, cutting the woman off and leveling a glare at her that Harry wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy…well maybe Voldemort.

"Oh this isn't an inspection." Umbridge assured him, recovering quickly, her toothy smile on full blast as she advanced on the professor, quill in hand "But, you see, I noticed a discrepancy in your file and-!"

"Since I did not receive a message," Vergil continued, cutting the woman off once again, his look growing steadily colder "and this is NOT an inspection, I believe I am quite right in saying you are interrupting my class."

"Oh I'm certain that won't be a problem." Umbridge stated, a hint of malice in her eyes as she continued to advance "After all, I'm merely here to bring up a little discrepancy…after all the ministry is required to perform background checks on all-!"

The class' eyes widened as Vergil, with speed that was nigh impossible, unsheathed Yamato and held it out to the side, Umbridge freezing where she stood as the business end of the Katana's point poked her between the eyes.

"My family," Vergil uttered slowly, his eyes, which were locked onto the floor before him, nonetheless unsettling those sitting at the front row "is none of your, nor the ministry's, concern." He lifted his head slightly, the class flinching as he slowly turned his gaze to focus on the terrified High Inquisitor "If you doubt my credentials, I suggest you take it up with Dumbledore. HE, at least, has time to waste with your pathetic bureaucracy," he smirked coldly at her "in fact, as I understand it, your Minister once made it a POINT to bother him at all points of the day, regardless of what he was doing."

Thus said he withdrew Yamato, sheathing the weapon with a swift, effective movement as Umbridge, her face a mask of terror, backed out of the classroom and fled down the corridor, making little choking noises the entire time.

* * *

"Now then…" Vergil called out, even as the door shut behind the High Inquisitor to reveal a grinning Pollux "Hand your assignments over to Pollux for collection and gather your things, we will be having a practical lesson again."

That said, he stood at the fore of the class, watching over them as Pollux moved among them, catching sight of the odd grin or look of admiration being sent his way as the students looked up at him, only to frown as he spotted Hermione trying to sneak something between her roll.

"Ten points from Gryffindor Miss Granger." He called out, the class looking up at him in amazement, none more so that the brunette herself, as he crossed the rows towards her, grabbing the piece of parchment from her hand and extracting a hand-woven sock from within.

"Deception is NOT a trait I recall Gryffindor House supporting." Vergil muttered, looking down at the mortified Prefect, who was receiving looks of amazement from the rest of the class "I don't know what you were thinking Miss Granger, but what you were about to do was as criminal to Pollux as the Nazi's branding and dehumanizing of Jewish prisoners during the war."

Hermione recoiled as if she'd been struck, before lowering her head to stare at her hands, her face a mask of mortification as the class continued to gape at her in alarm. Ron, especially, was looking at her in something akin to disappointment and anger on his face, having already told her off for doing something similar with piles of garbage and woolen mittens.

"I'll be having a word with Professor McGonagall about this, Miss Granger." Vergil muttered, earning a look of desperation from the prefect, only to pause as something tugged the hem of his coat.

"Sir." Pollux spoke up, his face solemn as he looked up at his master, the assignments tucked under his arm "Do not be so hard on young miss, she is not understanding House Elf culture."

He turned his large, open eyes to Hermione, who blinked at the reserved, prideful stare that was directed at her by a creature no taller than her knees. "House elves LIKE serving wizards, this is true, but it is our NATURE to do so. Just as there are being sprites that guard trees and wells, House Elves existing to protect wizard homes and families." He nodded his head solemnly "A House Elf that is losing home and master to serve is slowly dieing from feeling of loss and abandonment, they is seeking out new masters of own free will, because we EXIST to serve."

He reached out, pulling Hermione's assignment from Vergil's unresisting hand, before nodding his head towards the stunned brunette "Is understandable that young miss sees only slavery. Muggleborn you are, and muggles have only recently abolished slave laws yes?" he continued at Hermione's nod "But House Elves is not being Slaves, we WISH to serve, and as I believe young miss is knowing, if a House Elf is not wanting to serve one master…" he turned his wide eyes to regard Harry and Vergil in turn " there is always being others."

* * *

Harry blinked, catching the elf's direct reference to Dobby, the house Elf Harry had helped free from the Malfoys in his second year with a little sleight of hand and a rather grimy sock. The little elf REVELLED in his freedom from the Pureblood family, but even HE admitted that without someone to work for his life had been without meaning.

Now he worked amongst the Hogwarts Elves, who considered him a bit of an oddball, but tolerated him because he didn't try to spread his ideals to others and pulled his share of the work, which in their hierarchy branded him as an eccentric cousin that had done something scandalous, but was nonetheless well liked.

It was certainly an eye-opener for the purebloods as well, as they'd always assumed that House Elves were subservient because that was what they were there for. It had never occurred to them that the elves CHOSE to do so.

Vergil remained silent at the end of the elf's speech, regarding his servant with his usual, calculative expression, as if re-evaluating his opinion of the elf. Shortly after their first meeting, he'd sat the elf down and had him explain the inner workings of his culture, as there'd been little information on it in the library. It took several nights, as there was a lot that Pollux wasn't allowed to explain under Elf law, but even so Vergil had managed to garner a better understanding of House Elf culture than most Pureblood wizards cared to learn.

Which is why, after catching sight of Hermione's attempt at deceit, he'd stepped forward to correct the girl. Pollux, thus far, had been a useful servant, and while Vergil had no particular care for the elf, his code of ethics would not tolerate such a vagrant disregard for his rights, as it was as underhanded as being stabbed in the back.

Not that Vergil had problems with betrayal, he'd done quite a few underhanded things in his quest for power, but even so, when he did betray his accomplices, he made CERTAIN they saw it, namely the fatal blow from Yamato, coming.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, the blue-clad professor turned his attention to the awestruck Hermione, who was gaping at Pollux in shock. "I don't think we'll be needing to inform Professor McGonagall about this after all, Miss Granger." He stated, earning a look of shocked relief from the girl "However, the ten point deduction remains."

Hermione said nothing, simply glad to have been let off the hook so easily, offering a bow of acceptance to the man, and another, apologetic bow to Pollux, who returned it with a solemn nod of his head, before moving on to collect the rest of the assignments from the silent class.

Ron, who was looking torn between wanting to yell at the girl and comfort her, settled for biting the inside of his cheek and turning to regard Pollux, deciding that, after a speech like that, there wasn't anything he could say that would make any difference.

It was a mostly subdued class that followed Vergil out of the class and into the room of requirement for drills that day, though surprisingly; none of them bore Hermione any ill-will. She was a muggle-born after all, it was understandable she'd overreact to what she'd perceived as slavery, and in all honesty, the rest of them had never even batted an eye at the thought.

The Purebloods, in particular, were resolving to be much nicer to their family servants when they returned home for the holidays this year.

* * *

"No Quidditch practice." Angelina muttered, her voice hollow and defeated as Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the common room after dinner that evening "I know it's not your fault Harry." She assured the teen, shaking her head miserably as she spoke "But Umbridge said she needed a bit of time to consider."

"Consider WHAT?" Ron demanded angrily, his face turning a light shade of red "She's already given the bloody Slytherins permission, why not us?"

Harry suspected, and rightfully so, that Umbridge was trying to use this as leverage over the Gryffindors, a means to collar the Lions and bring them round to Umbridge's way of thinking by force. He'd almost be impressed if it weren't for his renewed desire to take his sword and carve himself up a nice big serving of toad guts to replace Snape's potions ingredients. He actually mulled over the idea of involving the Potions Master in his scheme, but brushed it aside hurriedly, as the idea of co-operating with SNAPE of all people made him come out feeling disturbingly greasy.

With not much else to do, as most of their assignments had either been completed or handed in already, the golden Trio pulled up a set of armchairs near the fireplace, pulling out their textbooks as Hermione led them through a brief list of subjects that she'd gathered would be covered in the exams this year, a little tip off from her Arithmancy professor.

As the evening wore on, Harry found his attention torn between gazing into the fire, keeping a watchful eye out for Sirius despite their being plenty of time until the arranged contact time, listening in to Hermione's retelling of Binns' lessons to date, and the excited shrieks from the onlookers as Fred and George demonstrated their Skiving Snackboxes, which apparently had been perfected recently a grinning Lee Jordan helping out by Vanishing the vomit and taking advance orders from the whooping crowd.

Hermione, who clearly didn't approve of the noise OR the Twins' antics, could nonetheless do anything about it, for one the twins had yet to break a rule, and she'd gone over the intensive list (disregarding Umbridge's rubbish of course) so she was quite certain of this, and for another she didn't feel up to pulling rank after the telling off she'd gotten today.

The fact Ron was sending her the occasional look whenever she glanced towards the twins wasn't helping any either.

"I don't understand how Fred and George only have three OWLs each." The redheaded prefect muttered, looking towards his elder brothers in confused wonderment "They really know their stuff."

"Oh, they only know the flashy stuff that's of no real use to anyone." Hermione countered disparagingly, only to look away as Ron pointed out, in a rather strained tone that for something that was 'no real use' the Skiving Snackboxes had just made the twins and Lee twenty-six galleons richer, and there were still more students lining up for a piece of the action.

It hadn't helped that, by the time the mob had disbanded for the evening, as the twins had run out of Snackboxes to sell, that Fred had rattled his box of Galleons in Hermione's general direction, earning a prim scowl from the prefect for the taunt. Ron, who by this point had drifted off to sleep, woke up with a muffled grunt, only to stare blearily into the fire, where Sirius' grinning face was looking out at him "Naherpaderpa…Muh?"

"Morning to you too Ronald." Sirius greeted, grinning at the redhead as Harry and Hermione whipped round to check the room was deserted, all three kneeling down on the hearthrug as Crookshanks, Hermione's pet cat, purred loudly and padded up to the fire in greeting "So how're things?"

"Not as good as they could be." Harry admitted with a grunt, rolling his shoulder stiffly "The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams…"

"Or secret armies to overthrow the current regime?" Sirius quipped, smirking cheekily at their dumbstruck faces "I know, apparently Fudge is REALLY going off the deep end, Kingsley swears he caught the man running starkers through the ministry building when he thought there was no-one there."

"Too much information." Hermione muttered, looking a little green about the gills, Harry and Ron actually fighting to hold in their laughter, knowing that it would bring inquiring minds down to see what the fuss was about.

"Well of course everyone here knows that's a load of rubbish," Sirius muttered, his lips quirking in a roguish smirk "and even Fudge isn't that far gone to voice his delusions to the media, but nonetheless it's what everyone in the ministry KNOWS he's using to push his ideas forward." He turned his eyes to the trio "But enough about politics, what's the new DADA professor like?"

"WICKED!" Ron insisted, his grin threatening to tear his face in half "Professor Vergil's something else Sirius! He doesn't let ANYONE order him around! He even drove Umbridge off at sword point today!"

"Now THAT I'd pay to see!" the Azkaban escapee noted with a grin, his eyes dancing in the firelight at the very idea "Wait till Lupin gets a wind of-!"

He trailed off, face tensing with alarm as he turned sideways, looking over his non-existent shoulder at the solid brick wall of the fireplace, as if there was something lurking there behind him. Before Harry could ask what was wrong, his godfather promptly vanished from the fire, the flames returning to their normal color as the connection was severed, only for a hand to appear amongst the flames, a familiar limb with stubby, short fingers, adorned with ugly, old fashioned rings.

It groped through the ashes, as if reaching to catch hold of something, the trio wasting no time in gathering their books and making a run for it, leaving Umbridge's disembodied hand to snatch at the flames that Sirius' head had only just recently vacated.

* * *

And there you have it, another installment of Vergil goodness.

For those wondering why I had Hermione do something so reckless, it's because she felt she wasn't getting any headway with the socks in the garbage, and seeing Vergil pubicly 'flaunt' his authority over Pollux was giving her the wrong signals. So she tried to 'help' the elf in her own way.

Sadly, since Hermione isn't a member of the faculty, she CANNOT release a house elf even by giving them clothes. At the very least, she's only succeeded in insulting every elf that works in Gryffindor tower and their grandmother.

At least that's my theory, I'm not a Hermione hater, if it weren't for her, the Golden Trio'd be up shit creek without a boat with Harry's recklessly running into Danger and Ron's inability to come up with a plan more complex than 'Hex the bejeezus out of them' (I know Ron isn't that bad, But I'm trying to make a point).

I merely used this to introduce House Elf customs into the story. Now the Purebloods have a better understanding of their so called 'genial servants'.

R&R!


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry this one tookso long folks.

Enjoy more Umbridge Bashing Vergil, in all his badass not-so-goodness.

* * *

Mind Games.

The fact that Umbridge had been watching the fireplace, coupled with Hedwig's assault and Filch's attempt at seizing his letter, finally drove home the fact that the woman was spying on Harry, either on orders from the ministry or some other, personal agenda.

This, more than anything, made Harry question his hesitancy in turning her into potions ingredients. Bad enough the hag was interfering with Hogwarts, but now she was pointedly signaling out Harry and those associated with him for acts of cruelty, all under the protection of the Ministry.

Harry was so vexed that, rather than silencing his bullfrog like he was supposed to be doing, he unintentionally directed the hex at professor McGonagall, leaving the witch standing there looking thunderstruck for a few seconds, before recovering enough to level a pointed glare at the teen as she removed the cancelled the hex with a casual wave of her wand.

"Mr. Potter." She stated firmly, her eyes boring into Harry's own as she spoke "While I am glad to see you're improving in your casting of spells, I would PREFER that you stick to using the designated targets."

Luckily enough, all Harry got was an essay assignment on the importance of proper direction and control in relation to Hexes for his trouble. He almost swore he caught a small smile on McGonagall's face when he'd looked back at her as he filed out.

Due to the downpour outside, the trio had filed into an abandoned classroom with a group of other students during break, Harry deciding to get a head start on the assignment and was in the midst of jotting down ANOTHER of Hermione's points on the subject when Angelina came struggling towards them, employing a liberal use of elbows to clear a path through the crowd.

"I've got permission!" the excited chaser cried out, the elder Gryffindor grinning excitedly down at the confused duo as she finally pulled up at their desks "I got permission to reform the Quidditch team!"

"EXCELLENT!" Harry and Ron yelled, in a manner reminiscent of a certain time-traveling duo, minus the rock and roll and phone booth, though a few members of the crowd looked around in confusion, wondering why they could hear guitar music in the background.

"Yeah," Angelina sighed, idly looking around to see where the noise came from, before beaming at the duo "I went to McGonagall and I THINK she might have appealed to Dumbledore." She nodded her head in approval of the Deputy-Headmistress' tactics "Anyway, Umbridge had to give in." she admitted with a sharp laugh "Now I want you down at the pitch at seven o'clock tonight, there's only three weeks until our first match, and we REALLY need to make up time."

Harry and Ron nodded enthusiastically, grinning up at their captain as she nudged her way back through the crowd, doubtless off to spread the word to the rest of the team, the two of them returning to Harry's essay with a renewed vigor, as suddenly things seemed to be looking a little better.

* * *

Several hours later, as they marched themselves off the sodden Quidditch pitch, having suffered an abysmal training session that they couldn't quite blame on the weather, the duo were instantly cursing themselves for jinxing things.

It hadn't helped that Harry's scar had acted up in the changing room, the teen covering up by claiming he'd poked himself in the eye , before hanging back to talk with Ron about the feelings he'd been getting about it, only for the redhead to gape at him, stunned out of his gourd at the concept of being able to read Voldemort's mind.

Harry, of course, didn't see it that way, as he personally didn't see the benefit of being the Dark Lord's personal Mood Ring, especially since all it gave him were fleeting images, followed by gouts of pain that at their best, felt like being hit upside the head, and at their worst…well all he needed was to collapse again where people could see and the Ministry would have a field day.

"You should talk to Dumbledore mate." Ron insisted, the freckled teen pressing on despite Harry's overall unwillingness to speak with the Headmaster about anything for the foreseeable future, steadfast of the opinion that the old man knew best "He'd want to hear about this."

"He already knows and didn't do anything about it." Harry muttered, shooting the stunned redhead a look that conveyed his opinion on the matter "I think he'd have done something about it by now if he-!"

"_I think it would be best if you looked into some mental defense lessons…"_

Harry froze, that one line of text rising to the forefront of his mind as he recalled Professor Vergil shaking him out of his enraptured reading of Sparda's tale. At first he hadn't paid it any mind, as he'd been too drained to think about it afterwards and had more pressing concerns on his plate. But now, with his mind focused by the sudden vision, and the grim reminder that he had a possible magical connection to his parents' murderer, he latched onto that train of thought with an intensity that startled Ron.

"Professor Vergil." He insisted, looking up at the castle through the downpour as Ron blinked at him in confusion "He once suggested I look into mental defenses, I think he might be able to help me out."

"You sure mate?" Ron asked, though truth be told it sounded a lot better than just running off to Dumbledore. True the headmaster hadn't failed them yet, other than putting Harry into several dangerous situations that worked out for the best in the end, but if Harry was right and he'd done nothing about the scar, then it might be a good idea to check out their alternative options.

Which is why the duo found themselves standing outside Vergil's office door, neither of them wanting to be the one that knocked, out of concern that the Professor turned them away. In the end, after a spirited came of Bludger, Catcher, Snitch, Harry reached up and knocked hesitantly on the door.

"Professor Vergil?" he called out, waiting for a reply, only to repeat the knock, louder this time, when none came "Professor, are you in?"

When no reply came, the duo looked at one another, Harry swallowing nervously as he reached out for the door handle, slowly trying the lock, only to blink as th door opened without incident.

"Blimey, not even a password?" Ron muttered, looking over the apparently unenchanted door in alarm "Then again, whoever tries to break into this office'd have to be bloody brave or bloody stupid."

Harry idly wondered which category the two of THEM fit into, as truth be told he wasn't feeling particularly brave as he crossed the threshold into the room, looking over at the well banked fire in the hearth and the high back chairs, his eyes trailing to the copy of 'The Legend of Sparda' on the mantle, as if of their own accord.

"Doesn't have much taste does he?" Ron muttered, looking around the Spartan chamber in amazement, before snorting in amusement "Still, better this than having a thousand pictures of Lockhart looking down at us, eh?"

"I apologize if my tastes don't meet your approval, Weasley." A voice called out from the corner, the duo paling and whipping round, Ron's spear clacking into position even as Harry brought his hand to the hilt of his sword, only to gape at the sight before them.

It was Vergil, stripped to the waist, revealing his pale, muscular torso for all to see, the golden necklace glinting in the firelight. He was running a towel through his hair, which was trailing down to frame his face as he eyed them from under his silvery bangs. Amazingly, with his hair down, the professor didn't look that much older than Fred and George.

"Good reflexes." He applauded, snorting derisively as the duo blushed and lowered their weapons "Of course, if I'd been an enemy, I could have killed you well before I'd said anything."

That said, the professor crossed the room, drying off his hair before tossing the towel into a basket by the wall, walking over to one of the chairs by the fire and sitting down. "Now then…" he muttered, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers before him, "What can I do for you two this evening?"

"Erm…well…" Ron stammered, looking torn between embarrassment at his reaction and awe at how perfectly built the professor was. Nothing but toned abs and muscle was visible, as if he lacked an inch of unnecessary fat. Now Ron was quite certain of his sexuality, he'd made more than enough dreams involving Fleur Delacour, Hermione, and on one occasion Tonks, to be certain of this, but even he could tell that if Vergil walked into class dressed like that it'd be like the time the Weird Sisters played live "You tell 'im mate."

"It's my scar sir." Harry explained, shooting a look at his supposed 'best friend' for his lack of help "You've probably heard about it from Dumbledore, but Voldemort gave me this the night he killed my parents."

"I'd heard as much." Vergil admitted, his eyes rising briefly to the scar in question for the briefest of seconds, before returning to Harry's eyes "I also gathered that, as a curse scar, it has some inherent magical properties?"

"Sort of." Harry admitted, before moving into a cliff notes version of everything that had happened to him thus far, including the little details he'd omitted regarding the scar heating up around Umbridge, or anything that struck the teen as particularly Dark, like a few individuals from Knockturn alley. When he finished, Vergil remained silent for a few moments, as if mulling over the information he'd been given, a hand over his mouth, stroking at the stubble that had begun to grow there.

"It isn't surprising that your scar would react to the one that created it." the professor muttered, tapping his foot in the air as he spoke "What surprises me is why Dumbledore is taking so long in doing anything about it." he snorted "I guess senility affects even the greatest of men."

"Dumbledore isn't going senile!" Ron insisted, the redhead turning red faced at the insinuation, before blushing and clapping a hand over his mouth as Vergil quirked and eyebrow at his outburst.

"…Loyalty is an admirable thing Weasley," Vergil stated slowly, Ron's features relaxing somewhat at the man's apparent approval "provided it doesn't degrade into fanaticism. While I don't disagree that Dumbledore has the best intentions for the students of this school, you must remember that he is, despite his power and prestige, only human." His eyes bored into Ron's own "And human's are notable for making mistakes."

* * *

Having sufficiently chastised the redhead, the professor snapped his fingers, calling forth Pollux and ordering the elf to prepare three cushions for them to sit on by the fire.

"Meditation is an art that even regular humans use to center their minds." Vergil explained, sitting cross-legged before the hearth as he watched Ron and Harry position themselves atop the cushions "Before I teach you how to protect your mind, you need to sort out all the clutter there."

"Erm, why am I doing this sir?" Ron asked, the second youngest Weasley looking a little uncomfortable as he tried to position the modest cushion beneath him comfortably "I mean, Harry's the one that-!"

"You are learning this, Weasley, because I say so." Vergil cut in, his tone authoritative and his eyes brooking no back-talk "Defending one's mind is as paramount as defending one's body. Many demons, and wizards, prefer to seize control of their pray by breaking into their minds. A proper mental defense can go along way to fending off assaults."

Ron's ears flashed pink in the firelight as he re-arranged his legs into a coarse mimicry of Vergil's stance, the two teens closing their eyes as instructed.

"Slow breaths." Vergil ordered, inhaling through his nose slowly to emphasize his point, drawing the air in audibly "In and out, push all other thoughts out of your head and focus solely on your breathing."

Harry and Ron did as they were told, their breath's rising and falling at an uneven tempo, before falling into line with Vergil's own, until it was like all three were breathing at the same time.

"Now…" Vergil ordered, not opening his eyes as he spoke "without opening your eyes…visualize yourself."

Harry exhaled, visualizing a scruffy looking teen with startling green eyes and a lightning scar, standing before a dark background. The teen was dressed in wizarding robes over oversized muggle clothes.

"Now…visualize the aspects of yourself." Vergil ordered, his tone rising smoothly, almost hypnotic, even as he kept up the even rhythm of his breath "The things that please you, the things that upset you, the things you'd rather keep to yourself."

Harry's brow furrowed slightly, even as the image of his inner self was suddenly garbed in Quidditch robes, Firebolt and Snitch in hand. On his shoulder perched Hedwig, her snowy feathers elegant as ever, on either side of him stood Ron and Hermione, with the rest of the Weasleys lined up behind him, with the notable exception of Percy.

Towering behind them was the bearded form of Hagrid, a panting fang at his feet and his pink umbrella over his shoulder. To Hermione's right stood the majority of the Hogwarts staff, ranging from the stern looking McGonagal to the twinkling blue eyes of Dumbledore.

However, as if in opposition of this, a very different scene was being formed in the reflection at their feet. The Harry in this scene was NOT smiling, if anything he looked as murderous as he had when he'd faced off against Voldemort at the cemetery. Behind him stood the Dark Lord himself, with his Death Eater's lined up behind him and to the right. The monster had his hand on the scowling Harry's shoulder, crimson eyes flaring dangerously.

"Now, envision a wall." Vergil ordered, his level, commanding tone slipping easily through Harry's thoughts as he spoke "Envision a barrier, something that, to you, represents something that protects you."

Instantly, the two images were replaced by an image of Hogwarts, the towering steeples and shining lights from the windows twinkling like the stars reflected on the lake's surface. There was even the occasional ripple from as a tentacle breached the surface briefly.

"Place those images, good and bad, within the stronghold." Vergil's voice ordered, even as Harry's brow furrowed in maintaining the three images simultaneously "Remember, you must always be sure of your SELF, so as to know what exactly you're protecting."

Harry struggled to do so, but in the end the images began to intermingle, while the image of Hogwarts wavered, and at one point switched briefly to an image of no.4 Privet Drive, which earned a startled gasp from the teen, who promptly snapped out of his trance.

"I think that will be all for the evening." Vergil muttered, looking over the startled teen with a calculating expression, even as Ron shook himself out of his stupor "Be sure to practice those exercises regularly, I'd recommend doing when you wake up and before you go to sleep."

"Yes sir…" the two muttered, Ron groaning as he climbed to his feet, his legs stinging from pins and needles as he slipped his holster back onto his back, Harry doing the same as they made for the door.

"Potter." Vergil called out, the teen turning in the doorway to find the professor's cold blue eyes boring into his own, though without the intensity that was usually there "If you sense anything else from your scar, I suggest you either get in contact with Dumbledore, McGonagal, or myself IMMEDIATELY." He held the teen's gaze as he spoke "I do not proclaim an expertise in curse scars…but if it can allow you to see into this Voldemort's mind," he cast an annoyed glance at Ron's flinch "there could be a good possibility that it works the other way as well."

Harry and Ron paled at that, looking between each other in alarm, before bowing in understanding and following Pollux out of the room, the elf escorting them all the way back to the common room to avoid bumping into Filch.

* * *

Despite the unsettling remark from Vergil, Harry slept surprisingly well over the next few nights, well enough that he woke up an hour before the rest of his dorm, allowing him to meditate in peace until the first sounds of movement shattered his concentration.

Needless to say, everyone had been talking animatedly about the first big Quidditch match of the season, which was, non-surprisingly, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, right of the bat.

Even the professors were getting in on the build-up, not verbally of course, but when McGonagal actually abstained from assigning homework to give her house more time to practice (admittedly, she'd done the same to ALL her classes out of principle) Harry and Ron had been all too eager to take her up on the offer.

Snape, of course, was no less eager in his support of his house, though he showed a little more favoritism to them in the form of booking the pitch for practice so often the Gryffindors were hard pressed to get time in, not to mention turning a blind eye to the alleged reports of Slytherin students attempting to hex the Gryffindor players.

Though the reports, and attempts themselves, came to an abrupt end when Harry, who was having none of the serpents' tricks, took to fingering the hilt of his sword whenever they walked past, whilst leveling his patented 'facing off against Voldemort' glare at them.

Ron, however, was steadily growing more and more nervous with each passing day. It got so bad that, on the day of the match, the redhead was actually unable to stomach anything at breakfast.

"You've got to eat something Ron." Harry insisted, pushing a small plate of toast and bacon under his friend's nervous gaze "Flying is hard enough without having an empty stomach to deal with. Plus you'll need your strength as keeper."

"Problems, Potter?" a voice called out, the trio looking up in time to see Vergil walking past the table on his way out of the hall "Weasley's looking a little pale there…eat something wrong?"

"It's nerves." Hermione explained sympathetically, patting the redhead on the shoulder comfortingly as she looked up at the blue-clad professor "It's his first time playing keeper for the team, and it's the first match too."

Vergil quirked an eyebrow, looking from Hermione to the nervous form of Ron, before nodding curtly and, much to the surprise of the trio, swept the plate of food out from under Ron's nose, before snapping his finger and making a brief order to Pollux, who returned with a modest bowl of porridge, seasoned with honey and a glass of milk.

"Eat, Weasley." The professor ordered, his eyes boring into Ron's own as he sat across from the redhead "I'm not leaving, nor will I allow you to leave, until that bowl is licked clean." He quirked an eyebrow at Harry and Hermione when they made to protest "Many a time a case of nerves has led to defeat, if you let something as infantile as pre-game jitters affect you, then how will you fare against REAL threats?" he smirked at the redhead "Surely a Quidditch match cannot be as dangerous as entering the lair of a basilisk?"

Ron sat up straight at that, the trio blinking at how well informed the man was, only to mentally slap themselves. Dumbledore had hired Vergil himself, it stood to reason that the Professor would be aware of certain events.

Either way, Ron managed to wolf down the deliciously filling bowl of porridge with something closer to his usual gusto, before marching out of the castle and down to the pitch for the match.

Vergil, who had been considering taking the time to train in the room of requirement while nobody was in the castle, decided to follow along after them, as he hadn't seen a Quidditch match before and Flitwick had been rather insistent that he come along, even going so far as to reserve a seat for him.

'May as well see what all the fuss is about.' The professor muttered, shaking his head in disbelief as he made his way out of the castle, quirking an eyebrow when he espied the Slytherins walking past with badges bearing the moniker 'Weasley is our King'.

* * *

"Ah! Professor Vergil!" Flitwick squeaked, the diminuitive Charms Master smiling eagerly up at the younger, taller professor as the latter made his way into the faculty booth "Glad to see you made it!"

"I merely wanted to see what the fuss was all about." Vergil admitted as he took his place between the Charms Master and Sprout "Weasley, the younger one, was having a bad case of nerves and I decided to see what could trouble the boy so."

"The first match is always the hardest." Professor Sprout admitted with a sympathetic tone, the head of Hufflepuff nodding in understanding "I remember the first time I played, I almost couldn't get off the ground."

"Weasley's problem seems to be a lack of confidence." Vergil muttered, his eyes locking onto the Gryffindor Keeper as the teams marched onto the pitch "Strange, considering how often he and Potter seem to find themselves in trouble."

"Mr. Potter tends to drag his acquaintances into his messes." Snape offered with sniff of disdain, earning disapproving looks from his fellow faculty members "Weasley's nerve is not so much a problem as his inability to see he's out of his depth."

Vergil did not reply, though he did turn to regard the Potions Master out the corner of his eye. Numerous times before he'd felt a slight probing at the barriers around his mind, so faint he'd almost been impressed, as so few humans could be so underhanded. Needless to say, he'd voiced his displeasure, albeit non-verbally, at the intrusion by matching the man's piercing stare with one of his own, while making a point to partially unsheathe Yamato with his thumb before him.

The attempts had stopped, but Vergil had not let his guard down for a second. Not that he was unnerved by Snape, hell if he'd wanted he could have sliced the Potion's Master into bite-size chunks and stored him in his own store closet as 'samples'.

His attention was soon drawn to the match as the teams kicked off, his eye quirking with interest as the Bludgers were knocked back and forth between each team. He was almost amused by the commentary from Lee Jordan, quite possibly the only commentator that required being monitored by McGonagal, who despite her obvious support for her own house, was not about to have the other team slandered in any way.

Almost, that is, save for the fact he couldn't HEAR the commentary over the chant the Slytherins were singing, an annoying little tune that, as the match wore on, seemed to be having a negative effect on Ron's psyche.

'Psychological warfare.' His eyebrow quirking with grudging approval 'A valid tactic, unnerving Weasley will undoubtedly serve to put him off his game.' He snorted 'Perhaps there's hope for Slytherin yet.'

He blinked a something golden flittered past his vision, his eyes narrowing, easily locking onto the little golden ball that was flitting around the arena like a paranoid mosquito, before questioning Flitwick about it.

"Oh, that's the Snitch." The Charms Master squeaked, eager to explain the beautiful game of Quidditch to his new colleague "It's the most important ball in the game, the Seekers, young Harry and Draco respectively, are the only ones that can touch it, and when they catch it the game ends and their respective team is awarded 150 points."

"Seems a little…unfair." Vergil muttered offhandedly, earning a look of confusion from the man as he nodded back towards the field "I trust there is some reason behind that arrangement?"

"Oh it's an old story," Flitwick admitted with a hint of eagerness in his tone as he bounced on his seat, looking up at the younger professor with a smile "I'll have to tell it to you sometime, but the basics are-!"

"Potter's moving!" Sprout gasped, the faculty's eyes turning to watch as Harry, with Malfoy on his heels, promptly dived towards the Slytherin end of the pitch, Vergil's eyes narrowing as he espied what the duo had locked onto, the elusive Snitch itself, the Professor watching with interest as the two reached desperately for the little, animated ball of gold, only for Harry to pull upwards, amidst the cheers of the crowd, holding the Snitch above his head in victory, which was cut short as a Bludger struck him in the small of his back, falling the remaining six feet to the pitch even as Madam Hooch rounded on the offending Slytherin Beater.

"Oh I say!" Flitwick squeaked, his brow marring in disapproval as he leveled and appalled look at the offender, Crabbe if Vergil was right "That was most certainly not on! Just what are you teaching those boys Severus?"

"I have nothing to do with the methods of the Quidditch team, Fillius." Snape assured his colleague, though even he seemed a bit perturbed by Crabbe's action "Nonetheless, Madam Hooch has it in hand."

"Still, disgraceful, the match was already over." Sprout sniffed, looking down at the Potter lad in concern. He might not have been one of her Badgers, but no Hufflepuff could stand to see someone else get hurt, even a Slytherin.

"Indeed." Flitwick sighed, shaking his head at the way of the world, before turning to smile up at Vergil, only to blink at the man's empty chair "Eh? Where did he-?"

* * *

"-But you like the Weasleys, don't you Potter?" Malfoy sneered, "Spend holidays there and everything don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by muggles, even the Weasley's hovel smells ok."

Harry had planted himself in front of George in order to hold the beater off, Angelina, Alicia and Katie managing the same with Fred, the twins striving to get close to the laughing Slytherin seeker with murder in their eyes.

"Or perhaps," Malfoy began, leering at Harry as he backed away, knowing full well that Hooch was occupied with Crabbe "you can remember what your mother's house stank like Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it-!"

Harry rounded on Malfoy so fast that even George, who he was barely holding back, didn't realize he'd moved until the enraged teen had half-crossed the distance between them, his arm drawn and emerald eyes flashing ominously, only to pause as a hand dropped onto Malfoy's shoulder.

"I think you've said enough, Mr. Malfoy." A cold voice pointed out, the Slytherins looking up in alarm at Professor Vergil, who had appeared out of thin air, his face decidedly cold as he leveled the full force of his steel-blue stare at the suddenly nervous scion of house Malfoy. "I think a talk with your head of house is in order," the blue-clad professor added, earning an flinch from Malfoy as he tightened his grip on the youth's shoulder "not to mention 100 points from Slytherin for being both a bad sport and trying to instigate a riot."

Harry, and the rest of the Gryffindor team, almost winced in sympathy as Draco turned a shade of pale that even Voldemort would have flinched at, before being led off the field, along with the rest of the surprisingly docile Slytherin team, by the blue-clad professor and Madam Hooch, while up in the stands Dolores Umbridge ground her pointy teeth so hard she actually cracked a few.

The High Inquisitor, having watched yet another of her plans to discredit Potter, and three of his staunchest supporters, get ruined by the blue-clad bane of her existence, was so irate she'd actually drawn her wand and moved to hex the man in the back, only to be sent flying as the selfsame bludger that had knocked harry off his broom, neglected in the attempt to restrain the brother's weasley, smashed into her face.

She would wake up later that evening in the hospital wing, with no memory of the match and missing several teeth.

* * *

And thus, the first Quidditch game of the seasonn draws to a close.

Vergilhas ALWAYS fought honorably, even if he DOES tend to backstab his partners. He forgoes guns because they aren't honorable, so he would look down on Malfoy's attempts to sabotage Harry as well.

That, and I'm sure he suspected Umbridge. He's just that good.

RR!

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Birthday update for my buddy Sketchfan's Outoto.

Enjoy.

* * *

Hagrid's Return.

Needless to say, as Vergil let himself out of Dumbledore's office that evening, the blue-clad professor was certain of the fact he wasn't likely to be on any of the Slytherins' Christmas lists this year…unless someone actually sent him a lump of poisoned coal.

The look on Snape's face when he'd learned of the amount of points removed had been nigh apoplectic, but there as nothing he could do as Malfoy HAD broken the rules of sportsmanship by deliberately provoking not only Potter, but three other wizards on the Gryffindor team.

If it had simply been Potter, the Potion's Master could have brushed it under the table with his usual disdain for the boy, but the fact Lucius' spawn had been dense enough to mock not only the Weasleys, in front of their teammates no less, but within earshot of another, less sympathetic professor, meant there was little Snape could to about it.

So not only was Slytherin down 100 points, placing them in a tie for last place with Hufflepuff for the first time in history, but Draco and Crabbe were expected to draft a three foot long apology apiece to Potter and the Weasleys, and had been stripped of their right to play for Slytherin permanently.

No, Vergil had NOT made a friend of Severus Snape that day, though truth be told the Potions Master had never trusted, or liked, the younger man. There was something about him that reminded him FAR too much of Voldemort, back when the man had been, for lack of a better term, human.

On the other hand, Professor McGonagal had been decidedly less formal with him since then, actually acknowledging him with a polite nod whenever they met at the table and in the hallways, and was decidedly more relaxed whenever they spoke. Add to that the excitable acceptance of Professor Flitwick, who despite being older than McGonagal, reminded Vergil of the time Dante had gotten into the sugar as a child, and the generally pleasant Sprout, who as head of Hufflepuff was a generally amiable person, and Vergil often found himself hard pressed to come up with excuses to be on his own, often cursing the manners that his late mother had drilled into his skull.

It was during one such attempt at escape, having narrowly avoided being corralled by Dumbledore, who seemed to want in on the action by inviting Vergil to tea, that the DADA professor found himself walking the Hogwarts grounds, actually hoping that one of the Acromantula would grow daring enough to set foot outside the woods. Unfortunately, or fortunately if you looked at it from the spiders' point of view, it seemed that Aragog's brood, while not as intelligent as their sire, nonetheless possessed good memories and had withdrawn from the extremes of their territory to the deepest, darkest parts of the wood, along with a variety of other forest nasties. The centaurs, however, made a point of appearing, briefly, between every tree trunk, their drawn bows and hard eyes visible even from a distance.

'It would appear my reputation precedes me.' Vergil noted, a smirk forming as he watched the latest of his centaur watchers recede into the shadows of the woods 'Trust the stargazers to be able to tell when something is wrong with the world.'

He half considered marching into the woods and deliberately challenging the centaurs, after all, the treaty between them and Hogwarts prevented them from attacking unless HE attacked, or otherwise provoked them first. But that would have been something Dante would have done, and since Vergil did NOT like being compared to his immature twin, he chose instead to respect the Centaurs understandable 'request' for him to stay the hell away from their borders.

It was at this point, just as he was considering returning to his quarters for the evening, that he espied something a little unusual, namely a nigh imperceptible distortion in the air that was sneaking out of the castle. It wasn't a ghost, for one thing it was leaving footprints in the grass, and unless he missed his guess there were several presences under the distortion, as one was repeatedly haggling the other while a third played peace keeper.

Keeping to the shadows well out of sight, the DADA professor narrowed his eyes and followed the distortion, a part of him impressed at the gumption, the other annoyed at their inability to sneak about without making a sound. What was the point of being invisible if you kept talking to one another?

Needless to say, when the distortion pulled up outside a hut he recalled Hagrid mentioning as his hut, Vergil's intrigue had only increased, especially since it appeared the long absent groundskeeper, and his not-so-little dog too by the sound of it, had returned.

* * *

Hagrid had no sooner let Harry, Ron and Hermione into his hut when there came a rapping on the door, the trio instantly ducking under Harry's invisibility cloak whilst Hagrid, looking a mite nervous despite behind physically strong enough to kill a Clydesdale with one slap of his hand, opened the door, blinking at the sight of a man he hadn't seen since before the start of term.

"Good Evening, Hagrid was it?" Vergil greeted, looking up at the Half-Giant with a reserved, polite expression on his face "I was simply out for a walk and saw the light on in your hut, thought I'd stop by to say hello."

"Erm…thank you sir." Hagrid offered, looking a little embarrassed, though pleased, at the refined young man's consideration "Only go' back a few seconds ago, didn' even get th' kettle goin' but if yeh wanna come in…"

While Hagrid bustled about, clearly making a big show of making the professor tea, Vergil, was looking over the man's battered form with a hint on interest, noting the various cuts, bruises and other odd movements that implied broken bones.

Half-giants were hardy creatures, even by Vergil's standards. He'd only ever encountered one in passing, when he, Dante and their mother had visited France in their youth, something about Eva's class reunion, but the sight of the woman in question flirtingly shoving an admirer through a wall had earned her species a grudging note of respect from the man.

So for Hagrid, who looked, if anything, ten times more durable than the admittedly large Madame from France, to come back looking like he'd been savaged by a lawnmower, was something that piqued Vergil's interest.

"Had a bit of a spill did we?" he asked, looking very pointedly into Hagrid's eyes, making it clear that he knew this had SOMETHING to do with a certain, sparkly-eyed headmaster, who was doubtless sucking away at lemon drops in his chambers at this very moment.

"Summat like that…" Hagrid admitted, his answering stare making it abundantly clear to the white haired, blue-clad professor that the groundskeeper hadn't a clue what he was on about, thank you very much.

"Indeed." Vergil noted, turning his head to a patch of air near the back of the hut, quirking his eyebrow in bemusement "Aren't you hot under that thing Potter?" he asked, earning a startled gasp from the patch of air and a look of alarm from Hagrid "I assume that Weasley and Granger are under there with you?"

Hesitantly, the golden trio slipped out from under Harry's cloak, the teen in question looking up at the professor warily, even as Hermione looked decidedly nervous.

"Relax, Granger." Vergil assured her, meeting the prefect's eyes with his own, slightly relaxed stare "I was simply out for a walk when I saw Hagrid's hut was occupied again and stopped by to say hello." He ran his eyes over the two "Though for future reference, I'd cast a silencing charm of some kind over you all…invisibility doesn't render you inaudible. Nor does it cover up three sets of footprints."

Hagrid couldn't help but chuckle guiltily as the three teens blushed redder than Ron's hair. However, they recovered quickly enough when it appeared the professor wasn't about to turn them in for breaking curfew, and promptly took their seats at the table.

"So, settled in alright have yeh?" Hagrid asked politely, the giant groundskeeper looking over the man he'd escorted to Dumbledore's office before the beginning of term with an air of polite, if relaxed, caution around him "Managing alright?"

"Well enough." Vergil admitted with a nod, accepting a mug of tea from the groundskeeper whilst eyeing Fang, who was growling at him from the corner, with an impassive stare "My primary concern was that I'd be dealing with underdeveloped bookworms, you can imagine my relief when I was proven wrong."

"Always said the kids could do with gettin' outside more." Hagrid agreed, nodding his head conspiratorially whilst Harry quirked an eyebrow, as the last time he'd gotten what would classify as exercise for Hagrid, he'd witnessed a unicorn's death and had been almost devoured by spiders the size of small cars.

"Indeed, while Quidditch is indeed an…interesting game." Vergil muttered, turning to nod at Ron and Harry, the former of which puffed his chest out in pride at Gryffindor's victory "I believe incorporating a basic physical education course would prove most useful…it'd certainly get the Ravenclaws out of their common room and into the sun more often."

"Ah well," Hagrid chuckled, the groundskeeper wondering how Professor Flitwick would handle the insinuation that his house was a group of unhealthy, bookish shut-ins "Teh each their own n'all that."

"Indeed." Vergil agreed, sipping his tea with an air of dignity as he let his eyes roam over the interior of Hagrid's hut. It was a quaint, rustic feeling that gave one the sense of home, or failing that a warm fireplace and a hot pot of tea.

It had obviously been here for a while, as he could make out signs of alterations here and there, doubtless signs of different groundskeepers inhabiting it before Hagrid was made Keeper of the Keys.

"Blimey Fang what's gotten inteh yeh?" Hagrid wondered, turning his head to his canine companion as the hound continued to growl at Vergil from the corner "Sorry Professor, he's usually not this nervous."

"It's quit alright Hagrid, may I call you Hagrid?" Vergil assured the man, continuing at the half-giant's nod "Animals and I have never gotten along, I remember the time my brother tried to buy a rabbit and it died of shock the minute he tried to touch it."

"Oh dear!" Hermione gasped, the bushy haired prefect looking sympathetic and saddened at the thought, even and Ron and Harry shifted uncomfortably "Wait, brother?" she asked "You have a brother, sir?

"A twin, though not by choice." Vergil admitted, earning a look of confusion from Ron, who had thought from experience that twins were as close as one could get without being glued at the hip "I always figured it was a mercy on the beast…it would've died of neglect in his care anyways."

"He sounds cruel." Hermione opined, the prefect's eyes showing signs of her usual first impressions sinking in, only to blink as Vergil snorted, looking highly amused at her incorrect assumption.

"Dante? Cruel?" Vergil scoffed, shaking his head in bemusement "I assure you, Miss Granger, that is an understatement, of sorts." He smiled wryly at the prefect "He can be cruel, true, but when one is in the practice of hunting down demons and their ilk, compassion tends to take a back seat." He nodded at the row of shocked gasps "That being said, he's never harmed an innocent, unless you count whoever's unfortunate enough to clean his pigsty of a home."

"I take it you're not on good terms with your brother sir?" Harry asked, looking over at the slightly disapproving way Vergil was eyeing his tea, holding his gaze as the professor turned to regard him with those blue eyes.

"He is a childish, immature, uninspired idiot that is incapable of seeing past his childish desire for adventure." The professor muttered, holding the teen's gaze as he spoke, before turning to look at his tea with a slightly calmer expression "But he is, nonetheless, my twin, my brother…" he pulled a golden medallion out from under his shirt "…my other half."

* * *

The trio and Hagrid looked silently as Vergil gazed at the medallion around his chest, Ron's eyes lighting up in awe at the oddly shaped pendant, which sported a red stone that seemed to dance in the light of Hagrid's fireplace.

It was clear the stone held some significant value to the professor, and quite possibly had something to do with his estranged brother, whom Harry and Ron felt a peculiar desire to meet.

Ron, in particular, could sympathize with the professor in a way. He too was used to having his brothers act like prats, being the youngest son had it's downsides aplenty, and he was no favor at all to estrangements, as he hadn't spoken to Percy since the prat had severed all ties with his family kiss up to Fudge.

Harry, being an orphan and only child, couldn't relate to the Professor in the same way, but was no stranger to estrangement himself. He and the Dursleys had never been close, even when he'd been growing up it had been with the hope that, someday, he'd be out the door and far, FAR away from them. Nonetheless, despite how easy it would be to simply walk out the door, hop on the Knight Bus and go, well, anywhere, Harry had remained at no.4 Privet Drive, partially at Dumbledore's behest, and partially out of concern for the Dursleys.

Insufferable, horrible, torturing prats that they were, they were HARRY'S insufferable, horrible, torturing prats. While he recoiled at the idea of a bond forming between them, he couldn't shake the fact that he was, by blood, related to them through Petunia, and while he would be quite happy to see the back of them, he didn't feel like losing the one link he had to his family, however unpleasant it was.

The conversation then turned, or attempted to, towards the purpose behind Hagrid's long sojourn from the castle, which Hermione correctly guessed had to do with the groundskeeper's estranged relatives, namely the giants of Britain.

Vergil, who was off the correct assumption that giants were as primitive as they were large, and foul tempered to boot, listened in with renewed interest as Harry first recounted the events leading up to his return to the school, sitting up straighter at the mention of Dementors. "You certainly do get around Potter." He complimented, looking over at the Boy Who Lived with something akin to amused approval in his tone "I certainly don't envy your friends and family with the amount of trouble you seem to find."

"More like it finds ME sir." Harry muttered, though not without a grudging smile as Hagrid patted him gently, for Hagrid anyways, on the shoulder, almost sending him face first into the table top in the process "It's not that I go looking for it."

"Perhaps you should consider doing so." Vergil suggested, his lip quirking slightly at the confused expressions "It would certainly throw your ill-wishers off if, instead of complacently waiting for them to swoop in, you turned up at their doorstep with a smile on your face and your sword in their gut."

Harry blinked at that, a little unnerved with the Professor's casual reference to disemboweling, but couldn't help the nervous smile that spread across his face. For one thing, he could almost imagine doing such a thing to Voldemort, or Pettigrew.

"As for you, Hagrid." Vergil continued, turning his gaze to the mumbling groundskeeper, who looked none to pleased with the revelation that Harry had almost been expelled for saving Dudley Dursley's soul "I won't pressure you for information regarding your whereabouts," he leveled a look at the trio that made Hermione shuffle uncertainly "quite frankly it's none of my business, but I would suggest you come up with something a little more substantial than 'I fell down' if someone asks about your injuries."

Hagrid flushed at that, looking like a schoolboy that had been caught out despite his bristling beard and massive size. Truth be told that HAD been the excuse he'd been working on, though Madam Maxime had urged him to use something else.

"As I understand it," Vergil commented, looking into the half-giant's eyes with a impartial stare that seemed to put him at ease and on edge at the same time "you were with Madam Olympe Maxime, the headmistress of Beaxbatons?" he smirked, not unpleasantly, as Hagrid startled "Dumbledore might not hold me in strict confidence, but he left enough hints during our conversations for me to put the pieces together." He nodded at the man "As such, I would suggest you go with the story that you were injured whilst patrolling the Forbidden Forest, and the Madame invited you to stay with her in the South of France to recover."

"That sounds pretty solid actually." Hermione reasoned, even as Harry and Ron sniggered at the embarrassed flush on Hagrid's face, which could've been used as a beacon in the dark n a foggy night "and since Madam Maxime is not only a respected foreign witch, but headmistress of a well known wizarding school, she can back up those rumors without the ministry being able to pry."

"Not to mention she seems rather attached to you, Hagrid." Vergil noted, quirking a lip at the embarrassed groundskeeper "Professor Flitwick can be most chatty when he pleases, and professor Sprout is already looking into arranging the wedding if I understand her little comments correctly."

"Wedding?" Hagrid choked, somehow managing to sound both overjoyed and mortified in the same sentence as he turned a bright shade of pink beneath his beard "But…well Olympe's a marvel I'll admit but…I'm just-!"

"One of the few people Albus Dumbledore trusts enough to enter his office without invitation." Vergil cut in, his tone stern as he held the man's eyes with his own, before tilting his head towards Harry "Not to mention you're a close friend of the infamous Boy Who Lived. Madam Maxime may be well respected in her own right, but even she cannot boast to be on such good terms with the two most important British wizards of their time."

* * *

Harry turned scarlet at the indirect praise and looked down at his cup in embarrassment to avoid the smirk Ron was sending him, while Hagrid did the same with Hermione. The two men glanced at each other, Hagrid with a look of apologetic gratitude in his eyes that Harry returned with a small smile that made it clear the sentiment was mutual.

At that moment, Vergil stiffened in his seat, his head turning slightly towards the door even as Fang, who had been agitated all evening, turned to the door with a low growl, the two of them clearly catching the sound of footprints approaching in the snow.

"Potter, the three of you get back under that cloak and hide somewhere out of the way." Vergil ordered in a low, commanding tone, eyes never leaving the doorway even as Harry blinked at him in confusion "Now!"

Harry hurried to do so, the three of them moving towards Hagrid's bed and squeezing themselves into a corner, even as someone rapped at the door, Vergil's scowl increasing as he caught sight of a small, squat silhouette through Hagrid's thin curtain, rising to answer the door even as Hagrid made a bid to hide the trio's mugs.

"Miss Umbridge." The defense professor greeted, opening the door and looking down his nose at the sight of the High Inquisitor, who paled and gaped at him like he was the devil himself. Oh the irony. "This is certainly a surprise."

"Yes..." Umbridge muttered, looking none too pleased with bumping into the bane of her existence, in all his regal, cultured glory, this cold, chilly evening "Might I ask what you are doing here, Professor Vergil?"

"You may." Vergil replied, his tone making it clear that he wasn't likely to answer her regardless how she posed the question, not moving an inch from the doorway even as he heard Hagrid coming up behind him.

"I see…" Umbridge muttered, her face twitching in annoyance and barely concealed anger as she looked up at the man with her faux smile "I understand that Professor Hagrid has returned? Might I have a word with him?"

"You may, but I would recommend letting him rest for the night." Vergil countered, though the words did not match the look in his eyes, which practically screamed 'fuck off' to anyone with half a brain cell in their head "Professor Hagrid has had a long trip back and needs to settle in so as to prepare for resuming his duties tomorrow. Time difference and all."

"I see…" Umbridge muttered, though truth be told she looked like she was suffering from an acidic stomach ulcer as she trembled with barely restrained hatred "Be that as it may, I won't take too long," she narrowed her eyes at her foe "unless, of course there's something you'd like to HIDE?"

"I am quite happy to admit I have no idea what you're talking about." Vergil replied in a tone that made it clear he knew exactly what Umbridge was digging for "But far be it from me to deny Hagrid the…pleasure, of your company."

That said he stepped aside, slightly, allowing Umbridge entry into the house, though she eyed Yamato as she passed warily, knowing all too well how fast the blade could leave its sheath. "So," she announced loudly, in a slow tone one usually reserved for the hard of hearing, her eyes running over Hagrid's battered features calculatingly "You're Hagrid, are you?"

Without waiting for an answer she strolled into the room, bulging eyes rolling in every direction, as if to ferret out anyone hiding in the wings. Fang chose, at the moment, to pad towards the woman, only to growl softly and menacingly from behind, causing Umbridge to whip round so fast she almost fell off her feet.

"Get away!" the High Inquisitor snapped, waving her handbag at the hound, only to pale slightly as Fang took offence, evident in the increase in the pitch of his growling and the slight baring of pointed canines "C-call him off!"

"Fang wouldn' hurt yeh." Hagrid muttered reassuringly, as if it was the most obvious fact in the world, patting his dog on the head soothingly to calm him down "An' I don' mean ter be rude, but who the ruddy hell are you?"

Vergil actually allowed a small smirk to creep its way onto his face at Hagrid's bluntness, as it certainly reminded Umbridge that she was NOT as well known as she thought. "Miss Umbridge is the Ministry's representative here at Hogwarts, Hagrid." He explained before the toad could introduce herself "Fudge assigned her here out of a…concern that Dumbledore wasn't following up to the Ministry's Standards."

Hagrid blinked, looking between the impeccably poised Vergil and the irate looking Umbridge, before his face-hardened in understanding. Hagrid might not have been the most cultured, educated man, but even he could smell a rat, and Umbridge sniffing around for Fudge raised one hell of a stink.

"What PROFESSOR Vergil forgot to mention," Umbridge continued, pointedly ignoring the blue clad professor as she turned her nostrils towards Hagrid, attempting to look down on him despite the fact she didn't even come up to his chest "Is that I am also the Hogwarts High Inquisitor."

"An what the ruddy hell is that supposed teh mean?" Hagrid demanded, his face locked up tighter than anything Harry and the others had ever seen. Hagrid only got that look on his face when he was pointedly making sure he let nothing slip, as the half-giant had a nasty habit of letting certain pieces of information slip out, especially around the golden trio, if he wasn't careful.

"It mean's she can ferret around Hogwarts like a rat in the walls trying to find SOME grounds for the Minister's delusions that Dumbledore is raising students into a private army." Vergil cut in, earning a stunned look from Hagrid and an enraged gasp from Umbridge, who was starting to turn an interesting shade of puce "Good grief, and people thought Hitler was paranoid."

"How DARE you!" Umbridge snapped, pointing at the blue clad professor in a rage, though she made a point of not getting within sword range "Never in all my years! Just where do you get off referring to a decorated ministry official-?!"

"I speak my mind where I choose, Umbridge." Vergil cut in, his tone cold and dismissive, rivaling even Snape's patented 'go curl up and die' sneer "It is one of the terms of my employment. Dumbledore might have hired me, but that doesn't exempt HIM from my opinions either."

"Oh?" Umbridge asked, the High Inquisitor quirking an eyebrow in sudden interest despite herself as she eyed the blue-clad professor "And pray tell, just what is your opinion of the...GREAT Albus Dumbledore?"

Hagrid stepped forward at that, not liking the woman's disrespectful tone, only to hold back as Vergil held up a hand to stall him, looking into the woman's eyes with a mocking smirk.

"Frankly?" he replied "I think he's a crackpot, meddling old spider that likes to meddle in other people affairs." Vergil admitted, earning a look of shocked betrayal from Hagrid, only for his eyes to narrow at Umbridge "But that being said, he is a man of his word that, in my opinion, knows far more about how to run this school than anyone else." His glare intensified "A fact the ministry, who actually posted DEMENTORS on the grounds, and proved most deficient in their handling of the Tri-Wizard fiasco, have no right questioning."

Umbridge swelled, looking for all the world like she was about to explode under her own power, before stalking towards the door, shooting the two professors a parting glare as she stomped out of the hut and off towards the castle, huddled in her robes as the wind picked up.

* * *

"I don't think she'll be coming back." Vergil muttered, watching Umbridge go with a hint of a scowl on his face, "Still, I think it would be best if you stuck to the story I suggested earlier, and I think I'll stop by tomorrow to let you know how she operates."

"Right…right…" Hagrid muttered, though his tone made Vergil look up at the groundskeeper, noting the look of unease and mistrust in the man's undamaged eye, not to mention the weight of the stares that were being directed at his back.

"My opinion on the Headmaster are my own." He pointed out, directing a warning glare at the patch of empty space that the trio occupied "I am entitled to my opinion after all, however rest assured that I trust HIM a lot more than I trust a Ministry that employs such a ghastly creature as Umbridge…I'd swear she was part goblin were it not for my respect of them."

The group chuckled at that, the look of mistrust vanishing from Hagrid's eyes, as even the Half-giant had to admit that Dumbledore WAS a little eccentric at times. The man was obsessed with sweets for Merlin's sake. And even McGonagal had voiced some question as to their leader's rationality over the past five years, mainly because of the dangers the Professor seemed to let into the school that Harry and friends often had to sort out.

The group waited another good minute, just in case Umbridge tried to sneak back to spy on them, before Vergil led the way out of the hut and back up to the castle, pretending to patrol the hallway leading up to Gryffindor tower just to make sure the toad, or her spies Filch and Mrs. Norris, weren't lurking in the wings to catch them in the act.

Though Vergil made a note to NEVER accept food from Hagrid again, as having to spend hours chewing through a lump of treacle fudge that had glued his teeth together had NOT been fun.

* * *

For those of you wondering if Vergil was a little more himan in this fic, it's because he can relate to Hagrid.

Half Breeds, regarldess of their origin, rarely have it good. Madam Maxime probably had the fortune of being part of a noble familly, with enough galleons to cover up the gossip, but Hagrid doubtlessly had a hard enough time of it even BEFORE going to Hogwarts.

That said, Vergil probably knows the gist of the man's story from Flitwick and Dumbledore, and so feels he can relate to the Half-Giant, though that doesn't mean he wouldn't kill him if it came down to it. (Hey, it's Vergil).

And yes, that WAS a little hint as to Eva, Dante and Vergil's mother's past. It also explains how Vergil knows so much about Beaxbatons.

Think about it, would Sparda marry justANY woman? Didn't think so.

So Eva had magical connections, and most likely studied at Beaxbatons.

R&R!


	10. Chapter 10

Good news is, I've found my copy of OOTP, so the fic is back on schedule!

Bad news is, my sisters are hogging the blasted thing again, good grief.

Oh well, on with the show!

* * *

Yuletide Cheer.

Needless to say, Hagrid took Vergil's advice regarding Umbridge to heart, at least more than Hermione's warnings regarding his more dangerous menagerie. Every evening that weekend saw the Blue-Clad professor walking out of Hagrid's hut, long after curfew had been set, to coach the Half-Giant on Umbridge's methods and mannerisms, as he'd gathered from the various professors with the exception of Binns and Snape. The former because, as a ghost, Umbridge could do little to bother the specter, and the latter because rumors had spread regarding the one time Umbridge had sat through the Potions Master's class.

As it turned out, when Monday, and Hagrid's official return to the teaching position rolled round, the trio had been relieved that, rather than something particularly dangerous, like they'd been expecting, Hagrid had introduced the class to the enigmatic, if surprisingly docile Thestral Herd that inhabited the Hogwarts forest.

He was just going into an explanation on how the rumors regarding Thestral and misfortune were simply that, rumors, when Harry caught sight of Umbridge slipping her way towards the back of the class, her smile seeming to grow more triumphant as she eyed the clearing, clearly pleased at Vergil's absence.

Her expression swiftly changed over the course of the lesson, as Hagrid single-handedly shut down her attempts at sabotage with ease that left even Malfoy flummoxed.

When the High Inquisitor had first announced her appearance, interrupting Hagrid's explanation as to WHY Thestrals couldn't be seen save by those that had seen death, with her usual deliberate cough, the half-giant had been courteous and accommodating, but otherwise ignored the woman in favor of continuing his lecture on the spectral horses.

Umbridge, of course, kept trying to make Hagrid look bad, deliberately appearing hard of hearing or asking questions that seemed designed to fluster, to which Hagrid countered by merely repeating his last sentence at a level even Malfoy would be hard pressed to deny understanding, or casually pointing out a flaw in her question and posing it to the class, which more often than not garnered an extra five or ten points for Gryffindor on behalf of Hermione.

Harry actually fought the urge to smile as he watched Umbridge's attempts fail, idly wondering just what Professor Vergil had said to coach the normally coarse groundskeeper, as Hagrid had never been known for his wits. Oh the Groundskeeper was far from stupid, if anything he knew more about the various nasties of the world than possibly even Newt Scamander himself, but Harry would never have asked the giant to represent him in a court…maybe as a bailiff.

Umbridge had, at one point, attempted to trip Hagrid up by pointing out that the Ministry considered Thestrals dangerous. Hagrid had happily pulled out a certificate, signed by the Head of Magical Creatures department, that listed him as a fully qualified tamer of magical beasts, something that had stunned Harry as much as Umbridge, who could only gape at it in disbelief as Hagrid went on to explain the proper method for approaching the invisible steeds.

Apparently, while Thestrals COULD prove dangerous if provoked, they were no more so than their distant cousins, such as the winged horses that the Beaxbatons students had arrived with last year, or even regular horses muggles were used to. The only difference was that Thestrals ate meat, but were scavengers rather than hunters, preferring to pick up the scraps of a hunter's meal than to hunt one themselves.

Umbridge had attempted to change tactics by questioning the students, deliberately heading towards the Slytherins, who looked eager at the prospect of discrediting the Half-Giant, when the bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson, one of the shyer Thestrals promptly knocking Umbridge off her feet and into a rather foul smelling puddle of muck.

"Oh thah's too bad…" Hagrid muttered, shaking his head in apparent sympathy as the irate High Inquisitor stumbled to her feet "Thestral Manure's pretty valuable for raising plants you know, but it's so hard the find on account of it being, well, invisible."

Umbridge had stormed off with her head held high, the Slytherins avoiding her like the plague even if she came near them, hands covering their mouths, as the Gryffindors fought to keep from laughing aloud.

Needless to say, Vergil had a most amusing read as Pollux brought him Umbridge's latest missive to Fudge, and made a note to send the Groundskeeper a little token of his appreciation later. After all, it took some patience to train a Thestral to relive themself on command.

* * *

December arrived with a flurry of falling snow that was matched only by the proverbial avalanche of homework the Professor's lumped on the Fifth-years and upwards. Some, like Professor McGonagal's traditional three foot Transfiguration essay, were already being shuffled into the mental 'in-tray' of the students, while others, such as Hagrid's assignment to list the 'most interesting beast' and it's 'unique traits', and Vergil's essay on the 'Most Effective Means of Surviving an Inferri Infestation', were already being glossed over by anyone that wasn't a Slytherin.

One of the highlights, in Harry's opinion anyways, was the teen's getting over his jealousy at not being elected prefect, as Ron and Hermione's duties soon grew not only in number, but in difficulty. They were asked to oversee everything and ANYTHING associated with their house. Harry was quite content to sit back and watch the drama unfold, as Ron could be quite verbal in his displeasure.

Surprisingly enough, Harry was actually considering spending the Holidays away from Hogwarts this year. Bad enough that Umbridge was doubtlessly planning to stay and spread her stink, but he'd recently bumped into Cho Chang in the hallways and been startled to find her crying her eyes out, only for her to swear him to secrecy and rush off back to the Ravenclaw common room. Apparently her relationship with Cedric had been a bit more than just a Yule Ball Dance and the knowledge of that fact left the teen feeling uncomfortably empty.

On a happier note, Ron had extended an invitation from the Weasleys, sans Percy of course, to spend Christmas with them. Harry had idly wondered if he could convince them to hold the festivities at Grimmauld Place, as he highly doubted that Dumbledore would approve of Sirius leaving the Order HQ, what with the Ministry still hunting for his head.

A charming distraction from this otherwise morbid thought, was Hermione's sending off a letter to one Victor Krum, international Quidditch player and one of the other Tri-Wizard Tournament Champions that had survived the rigged Tourney. Ron's obvious look of jealousy was surprisingly heartening to the Boy Who Lived, glad to see that hormones weren't just signaling him out to make total prats of themselves.

Of course, the nightmare of Nagini, Voldemort's pet serpent, attacking Arthur Weasley in the middle of the night, quite ruined the boy's mood. The fact it had been done from HARRY'S point of view hadn't helped either.

* * *

After a quick trip to Dumbledore's office, followed by a hectic night's sleep at Grimmauld Place, Harry, the Weasleys, Moody and Tonks made their way to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which was conveniently disguised as a large, old-fashioned, red-bricked department store that, according to one local resident, was never open.

This wasn't strictly true, for the healers of St. Mungo's had sworn to never rest when it came to injuries both magical and mundane, rain or snow, day or night, there was no injury they would not treat, and no patient they would turn away from. They even treated captured Death Eaters, though admittedly not without a team of Aurors with hair triggers keeping the convicts in check.

This meant that Mr. Weasley was in the very best of hands, which Harry felt was well worth a night without sleep and potential mental trauma. Well okay, the latter sucked, but if Ron's dad was safe he could put up with it.

That was until, through the wonder of Fred and George's extendable ears, the group listened in on a conversation between the adults, where Moody unintentionally spilled the beans that Voldemort was peaking around inside Harry's head just as easily, if not easier, than Harry was riding around in the Dark Lord's, and could, if the teen's brief, inexplicable desire to mangle Dumbledore was any sign, be controlling him.

Needless to say, the Boy Who Lived's entire morning was shot to hell by that point, and Phineas Nigellus, one of the former Hogwarts Headmasters and an ancestor of Sirius, passing on an order from Dumbledore via portrait for the teen to stay in Grimmauld Place did NOT improve his mood any.

But rather than throw a tantrum, as he'd have been wont to do in the past, Harry simply stormed up to his room, set his weapon beside the bed, and meditated as Professor Vergil had taught him, his hot, angry breaths slowly lowering until they reached the slow, calming tempo he'd been taught, doubling his efforts on making a decent barrier against mental probing. He wasn't about to give Voldemort a free reign to enter his head any time soon!

He was shaken out of his trance hours later by Ron, who announced that dinner was ready if he wanted any, before vacating the room decidedly sharpish, far too quickly than could be forgiven as the redhead's usual desire to gorge himself. Harry chose not to respond to the summons and instead turned inwards again, his mental image of the walls and grounds of Hogwarts, complete with a decidedly murderous forbidden forest, growing increasingly more tangible with each calming breath.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, Harry got his wish, in that Grimmauld Place, formerly the gloomy, ancestral home of the Blacks, Sirius' prison and Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, was soon echoing with the sounds of merriment, as the residents geared up to spend Christmas there.

Sirius was in a stellar mood, running about singing carols at the top of his lungs, his deep baritone oddly soothing despite his lanky black hair and sunken features, whilst hanging up wreathes of tinsel and holly all over the house..

Harry, who had by now retreated to Buckbeak's room, as the Hippogriff had been given lodgings in one of the quieter areas of the manor, only caught the tail ends of his godfather's good cheer. Oh he was happy for the man, after all, spending thirteen years in Azkaban more than entitled Sirius to a little good cheer, more than a little in fact, but the fact was with Ron's alienation, and Harry's own sense of violation, the teen had chosen to hole up in the manor and work on his mental exercises, only ever going down to eat the food Mrs. Weasley had left out for him at night, when he was certain the woman had gone to bed.

Hermione, eternal fusspot and know-it-all that she was, soon put a stop to that.

"Oh stop feeling all misunderstood!" the bossy, but well intentioned prefect ordered sharply, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face "Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the extendable ears…"

"We wanted to talk TO you Harry." Ginny stated, ron's younger sister cutting the boy-who-lived off, even as his face switched into an enraged scowl "but you've been hiding ever since we got back-!"

"I've been meditating." Harry cut in, looking pointedly at Ron, who's eyes widened in understanding, even as his sister and Hermione blinked in confusion "Mental exercises Professor Vergil recommended." He tapped his scar for emphasis "I just needed some peace and quiet to get my thoughts together."

"Think you can give me any tips?" Ginny asked, only to huff as her brother and Harry gaped at her like gormless sheep "Honestly, You-Know-Who's already possessed me once, don't you think I'd like to prevent that happening again?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Hermione agreed, her eyes filled with intrigue as she nodded in understanding "Who's to say that Lucius Malfoy doesn't have other items that belonged to Riddle? Ginny escaped by the hair of her teeth, but who's to say it won't happen again?"

"For one thing I don't think Malfoy's dad is as big a ponce as his son to try the same thing again." Harry stated with a mocking smirk, earning a snort from the two Weasleys, who suspected the apple didn't fall to far from the tree "For another, if he DID have more of Voldemort's old school things, why would he wait till NOW to pawn them off? For all we know Voldemort left copies of himself in every textbook he ever used."

"And considering the sheer amount of books a Hogwarts student uses during the course of their education…" Hermione muttered, her face turning quite grim at the very thought "You're right, I can't see Lucius Malfoy being so stupid to repeatedly pawn off the Dark Lord's old things…at least not the same way he did the diary."

"Can you imagine if the git had cursed his old underpants?" Ron opined suddenly, earning looks of exasperated disgust from the others "What? Think about it, there are hundreds of cursed books out there, who'd suspect a pair of woolly long-johns?"

"Just because Fred and George are complete and utter prats doesn't mean you can pass off their hexing your underwear." Ginny shot back teasingly, earning sniggers from the others as her brother flushed "Now c'mon, you can tell us about those mental exercises later, I think we'd better rescue Sirius before mum tries to hex him, he's been singing like that for hours."

"God Rest, Ye Merry Hippogriffs-!"

* * *

After rescuing his godfather from the wrath of Mrs. Weasley, a task that proved more arduous than any time Harry had faced off against the forces of Voldemort, mainly because Sirius was deliberately provoking the woman, the group settled into the Christmas spirit, the halls of Grimmauld Place echoing with the sounds of merriment that would've had Sirius' ancestors rolling in their graves, much to the last Black's glee. His mother certainly had a lot to say, but through the wonders of muggle paperclips, the heavy curtain over her portrait was soon rendered relatively silent for the duration, though Sirius had to order Kreacher, the Black's twisted house elf, not to come within ten feet of the curtains after he caught the little bugger trying to remove them.

Needless to say, when Harry awoke on Christmas morn, it was to find the foot of his bed littered with a veritable stack of presents, an overly eager Ron already rummaging through his own, admittedly larger, pile.

"Thanks for the broom compass mate." The redhead offered, a smile on his face as he held up the present in question "Better than Hermione's at any rate, she got me a homework planner of all things…"

Harry would have cautioned the redhead to be thankful but was idly placing his OWN planner to the side, vowing to never write a word in the loud, obnoxious thing if he could help it. ONE Hermione was more than enough.

His gifts from Sirius and Lupin proved far more appealing, a set of books entitled 'Practical Defensive Magic & its Use Against the Dark Arts', which boasted not only detailed instructions on a number of counter-curses, hexes, and overall wizardry, but included moving color illustrations of how to perform them, something the stale, stagnate books at Hogwarts' library lacked.

Hagrid had sent the youth a furry brown wallet with fangs, presumably an anti-theft device, and Harry would have normally put this aside with Hermione's gift were it not for a small side note at the bottom of the card, instructing him to stroke the wallet like a cat to earn it's favor. Apparently Professor Vergil had caught wind of the gift and convinced Hagrid, who could forget the silliest of things sometimes, to send the instructions with the gift. Harry made a mental note to have a gift ready for the Defense Professor when he returned. He loved Hagrid to no end, but the groundskeeper just couldn't understand that most people's definition of 'Cute & Furry' didn't include razor sharp fangs and claws that could cleave through trees.

Dressed in his traditional Christmas jumper from Mr. & Mrs. Weasley and munching away at a pie, the Boy Who Lived was idly trying to interpret Dobby's hand-made painting, his model Firebolt from Tonks zooming around his desk, when Fred and George apparated in at the foot of his bed, looking grim. Apparently Percy, the estranged son and eternal prick of the Weasley family, had returned his Christmas jumper without so much as a card. The twins had tried cheering their mother up in their usual fashion, only to forget that a mother's love outshone all wrongdoings, and that their slandering of their older brother just heightened her sorrow.

"Lupin took over." George admitted, helping himself to one of Harry's chocolate frog and sitting down on the foot of the bed, his features unreadable "Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast I reckon."

"Now what's this we hear about you learning Occlumency?" Fred asked, quirking an eyebrow at Harry's look of confusion "You know? Shielding your mind and all that? That's not even covered in theory until seventh year."

"And by then you'll be up to your ears in N.E.W.T preparations." George agreed, his grin turning particularly vindictive as he waggled his eyebrows at Ron, who was looking particularly Nervous, you think you had it bad with O.W.L tests? Sixth year and up is all preparation for N.E.W.T.S."

"Professor Vergil recommended I learn them when I told him about my scar." Harry admitted, earning a slight flinch from all three Weasleys as their eyes flicked to the infamous lightning bolt "He said it would be better than just sitting if the connection works both ways…which it DOES apparently."

"Any luck?" George asked, looking over at his friend and silent partner, though admittedly nobody knew that Harry had supplied the funding for 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes', the twins future joke shop. Nor would they if Harry's threat of hexing the duo held any merrit.

"I thought I was doing fine until the dream the other night." Harry muttered, frowning slightly as the Weasley's flinched again "On the one hand I'm glad we could warn Dumbledore, but on the other, the fact I was riding around in Voldemort's snake…"

"Gimme dreams of hot birds and galleons any day." Fred agreed, earning a snort of laughter from the others as Harry chucked his homework planner at the older teen, the group making their way down the stairs once Harry and Ron were dressed.

* * *

After a hearty, traditional Weasley gut-bursting lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione set off to visit Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo's, this time escorted by Moody and Lupin, pulling up at the hospital in a car that Harry suspected had been obtained through less than legal channels, after all it had been brought to them by Mundungus Fletcher.

Though Harry would've quite gladly stayed in the fenced vehicle if it meant he could escape the row that followed when Mount Molly erupted when the matriarch learned her husband had been messing around with Muggle remedies, namely stitches, which had apparently made his condition, if not worse, then nowhere near better. For one thing he was likely to be rendered deaf from his spouse's screams.

Enjoying a slight chuckle at Ron's expense, as the redhead defended his freckles from the misguided opinion of one of the St. Mungo's paintings, the group continued onwards to the fifth floor Tea room, only to be sidetracked on the fourth floor, SPELL DAMAGE, by inadvertently bumping into their former, 2nd year DADA professor, and overall fraud, Gilderoy Lockhart, who seemed no better off than he had been the last time they'd laid eyes on him.

Being dragged into the ward by a motherly looking healer, apparently under the presumption they'd come to visit the obliviated former wizarding sensation, the group inadvertently bumped into fellow Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, and by proxy, his domineering Grandmother Augusta, complete with stuffed vulture and umbrella.

"Friends of yours, Neville dear?" Augusta Longbottom asked graciously, the Longbottom Matriarch bearing down on the group with a regal poise that spoke of years of holding her family together with a firm hand "Ah yes," she noted, looking closely at Harry and holding out a shriveled, claw-like hand for him to shake "Yes, yes. I know who you are of course. Neville speaks most highly of you." Her eyes drifted over the rest "And you two are clearly Weasleys. Yes I know your parents-not to well of course-but fine people…and you must be Hermione Granger?" she shook the startled brunette's hand "Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots haven't you? He's a good boy," here she leveled a stern, appraising glare at her embarrassed grandson "but he just doesn't have his father's talent."

"Neville does his best." Harry cut in, elbowing Ron in the ribs before the redhead could speak out in confusion "He's top of his class in Herbology, he's even beaten out Hermione, Professor Sprout once said she'd recommend him for her position when she retires if he scores high enough."

"And he DOES do well in other classes." Hermione agreed, the bushy haired prefect smiling reassuringly at the embarrassed Gryffindor "Why in DADA class he's tied with Harry since third year, at least in practical exams."

"Theory's Hermione's stomping grounds." Ron agreed, with a self-mocking grin, the redheaded prefect rubbing his bruised ribs as he spoke "I wouldn't enter into THAT territory with an army of Aurors at my back."

"Good on you girl." Augusta applauded, a light of approval in her eyes as she nodded at the blushing brunette "Good to see a witch with ambition these days, too many rush into marriage or dally about trying to 'find themselves' good to see at least ONE with her head screwed on, I know Minerva must be proud of you-yes, Alice dear, what is it?"

Harry had to keep from flinching as Neville's mother came edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face from the photo of the original Order of the Phoenix, which Neville had inherited, and her hair hung white and wispy about her. She was reaching out to Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand, the boy reaching out without having to be told to accept the empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper his mother deposited there.

Harry locked eyes with Neville, meeting the other boy's defiant stare with a look of understanding that calmed the other boy's nerves. Had it been anyone else, Neville might have interpreted the look as pity and withdrawn into his anger, but Harry had lost his parents to Voldemort's evil as well, and so could understand what it was like to grow up without his mother, though Neville had it so much worse.

At least Lily and James Potter had been killed outright; their bodies buried and laid to rest. Frank and Alice Longbottom were still alive, but it was a cursed life, without their inner fire and reasoning.

Harry honestly didn't know which was worse.

"Bloody hell…" Ron muttered, walking out of the ward with a ghastly pallor on his face, even his freckles had paled from the shock "And Kreacher's gushing over that witch's photo…little freak probably loves her, he's twisted enough…"

Harry paused at that, some inbred instinct washing over him as he combined the conversation they'd had earlier with his own experiences with Dobby. Sirius had assured him that Kreacher couldn't leave Grimmauld Place, that he was bound to the Black family home, but Harry knew from experience that Dobby could go wherever the hell he liked, even when he'd been sworn to the Malfoys.

And Bellatrix Lestrange was Sirius' cousin, a Black by Blood if no longer in name. If there were any a way a rule could be bent, it would be if Kreacher WAS, in fact, serving a member of the Black Family. It just so happened that it wasn't the current head of house.

Which is why, not ten minutes after the group had gotten through the door to Grimmauld Place, found Sirius throttling the life out of the treacherous elf in a manner oddly reminiscent of a certain father and son duo from America, complete with sound effects.

Hermione, of course, had voiced her objections to such harsh treatment, but the cold look in Harry's eyes had warded her off. It was this, after all, or Harry would've lobbed Kreacher's head off with his sword, at least this way there was a chance Kreacher would come out of it alive.

Though as the ancient elf turned blue from asphyxiation, without any signs of Sirius letting go, Harry just couldn't bring himself to stop the man, for one thing it would mean rescuing someone that could have sold out the order…for another he didn't like that look in his godfather's eyes.

* * *

While all this was going on, a certain silver haired young man, dressed in a red-leather trench coat, boots, and durable camoflage pants, opened the door to his recently purchased, abandoned bar, only to blink as he found a rather annoyed owl blinking at him from the sofa.

Whipping out a pair of personally customized pistols, the red-clad man emptied several rounds at the avian intruder, who screeched and dodged the assault with surprising ease, flying overhead and out the door before he could get a good another shot at it.

"Huh, and here I thought I'd already paid for pest control…" he muttered, twirling his handguns and holstering them in the harness on his back, moving towards the sofa only to pause as he espied a package resting on the coffee table.

Going by the shape alone it was an obvious no-brainer as to what was inside, but even so, as he removed the, admittedly plain, wrapping from the bottle, it was with a cautious air, as it could just as easily be a petrol bomb.

It was with a mild sense of disappointment that he found the bottle to be un-tampered with, though he DID quirk an eyebrow at the brand name, having never heard of 'Firewhiskey' before. Shaking his head, he picked up the little note attached to the wrapping, his brows rising as he read the short message there.

'_To D. From V.'_

"Well I'll be damned…" the red clad man muttered, snorting in wonderment at his twin's latest oddity "and here I hadn't even sent him a card…"

Shrugging himself out of his coat and tossing it onto the sofa alongside him, the pale haired man put his feet up on the table, popped the cork of the bottle, and took a long draught, only to spray the mouthful across the bar, choking in alarm.

"Holy shit that's good stuff!" he swore, eyeing the shimmering booze like it was liquid nirvana, before grinning, raising the bottle towards the lamplight overhead, his silver pendant shining in the light.

"And a Merry Christmas to you, Jackass." He toasted, downing another mouthful of the stuff, even as his much-abused alarm clock struck midnight.

* * *

And that'll do for now.

I know Vergil didn't make much of an appearance this chapter, but he's simply not the type to get into the festive cheer.

Reminding Hagrid to send the instructions (The big guy's been going to him for advice for just about everything lately) and sending Dante a bottle of firewhiskey are about as far as he's willing to bend, and that's pushing it.

What he's doing for the holidays you ask? Let's just say the room of requirement's getting a spring cleaning.

Vergil: Floor number 666... and counting...

Pollux: (Carrying the man's wine like a caddy) Very good master.

R&R!


	11. Chapter 11

Picking up where we left off...

* * *

Return to Hogwarts.

After, reluctantly, rescuing Kreacher from Sirius' rage and calming the man down, the last of the Black's promptly pulled rank and ordered Kreacher, under penalty of DEATH, to never set foot outside his den, threatening to curse his mothers' portrait into oblivion if he did not comply.

Kreacher, who would normally endure any hardship simply to spite Sirius and his 'blood-traitor friends', had instantly fallen in line, his eyes wide with terror at the prospect of his beloved mistress being harmed in any way. The ancient elf had withdrawn so completely into his den that the only thing that could be seen were his terrified eyes and squeaks, which would only intensify whenever someone came near.

Hermione of course, had tried speaking up for the elf, but Harry and Sirius had simply pointed out that Kreacher could have very well sold out the Order's secrets, if not the location of their Head Quarters, to one of Voldemort's most devout followers. This shut the prefect up rather sharply, though she DID still make a point of reminding them that he needed food and water.

Harry would have gladly seen the little bastard starve, but that brought up images of his imprisonment in that cupboard under the Dursley's staircase, and he'd relented, which in turn bought a small allowance from Sirius, who would allow Kreacher to leave the den for food and drink, provided he did NOT leave the house, and did NOT interact with anyone, or thing. The fact he'd done so while leveling his wand at his mother's, sufficiently shocked portrait, had driven the point home that HE was the master of this house, and that the opinions of the shriveled old harpy meant little.

Harry had been practicing his sword strokes in the grand hall of Grimmauld Place, which Sirius had considered an amusing sight and would often sit in for hours watching, when Mrs. Weasley entered, eyeing the teen's Zweihander in disapproval, before calling out to him, stating he had a visitor.

Harry, who had worked up quite a sweat, forgoing his shirt in favor of simply training in jeans and shoes, had nodded and followed her out, his sword once again in it's harness as he entered the kitchen, only to blink at the sight of the person sitting there, drinking tea.

"Potter." Vergil greeted, nodding at the teen with a quirked eyebrow, taking in the shirtless torso and the sweat trailing down his arms "Good to see you're keeping up with practice."

"Professor?" Harry greeted, nodding his head and looking around for Mrs. Weasley, who'd offered to get him a clean shirt when she'd seen how sweaty his old one had become "What're you doing here?"

"Dumbledore sent me." Vergil replied, looking over the teen with a calculative expression "He apparently found out about my instructing you in the basics of mental shielding and was intending to send Snape out to coach you in it." he quirked an eyebrow at Harry's scowl "Snape, however, suggested that since I had already set you on the path, I should be the one to train you." His lip quirked at that "He really doesn't like you, does he?"

"Feeling's mutual." Harry muttered, leaning against the counter and grabbing a glass of water from the sink, sighing as it helped him cool down from his workout "So are we going to practice today?"

"Later." Vergil admitted, nodding his head as he sipped at the tea that Mrs. Weasley had set out before him, Yamato resting at his side "But first, I want to see how you, the Weasley's and Miss Granger have been keeping up with your studies…"

* * *

Later...

What followed next was quite possibly the most grueling four hours of the teens' lives, as Vergil put them through their paces, non-stop, until he was satisfied.

Harry had been paired off against Fred, who was wielding an impressive looking axe, and took great pleasure in using his superior beater's strength to fend off Harry's strikes, though he DID keep a wary eye on the teen's weapon nonetheless. Ron had been paired with George, the teen's spear proving a plausible defense against his brother's own axe, though mainly because it kept the older Weasley at a distance.

Hermione, originally lacking a partner, had been receiving additional tutoring from Vergil on how to wield her weapon, only to break off whenever a switch was called, meaning that when one person took a break, the others kept on fighting, with Hermione putting her extra tutelage to good use.

Needless to say, when Vergil called a halt for dinner, it was a thoroughly appreciative group that shuffled into the kitchen to wolf down Molly Weasley's delicious spread, a jealous Ginny quizzing away at what they'd been up to, looking imploringly at Vergil for a weapon of her own, only for Molly to silence her with a look.

"Fifth years and upwards are taking exams to determine their eligibility." Vergil had told the girl placatingly "they've already grasped as much theoretical knowledge as they could, I won't interfere with yours."

"But you wont be with us for next year!" Ginny insisted, the Weasley daughter looking stricken "What if Umbridge gets selected next year? We won't learn anything then!"

"If Umbridge manages to come out of this year intact I'll eat Yamato." Vergil countered, earning sniggers from the twins which were silenced with a glare "Besides, at the very least, Dumbledore will cave in and simply elect Snape."

Ron and Harry choked on their dinner, looking at each other in morbid trepidation at the idea of the greasy Potions Master taking the DADA class. It had been bad enough when he'd subbed for Lupin, setting an assignment that hinted at the werewolf's condition, but that had only been for the short time when Lupin had been…indisposed, but to have to endure his sneers and comments for a whole year, on TOP of having him for potions?

"However, I believe my curriculum has made an impression on the staff." Vergil assured them, cutting up his meat elegantly "Flitwick assured me that he'd personally see to it that Dumbledore kept the 'weapons' curriculum on, apparently it had once been a standard for those with inclinations towards the Auror field, but fell out of practice as a result of the Ministry's bungling."

Mrs. Weasley didn't look like she approved of her only daughter turning her hands to weapon-lore but that would clash with her opinion that the ministry had no place interfering in Hogwarts. She opted for remaining silent and sending disapproving glares at the group's weapons, which they'd leant against the back wall of the kitchen.

Dinner completed, Vergil led the group, including an eager Ginny, to the grand hall once more, settling them down in a rough circle as he removed his blue coat, revealing the sleeveless undershirt and his toned biceps to all, before leading them in period of meditation, instructing them on how to organize their thoughts from outside assault, though he had to threaten Fred and George with the removal of their weapons if they didn't take things seriously.

Sirius, of course, had asked to sit in, interested in seeing what Harry's latest DADA professor was like, and had been allowed to do so, though it was clear from the get go that he and Vergil were the sort that didn't get along.

Oh they were civil to one another, almost painstakingly so, but it was clear that they held no liking for one another's company, Vergil with his reserved, formal manner and Sirius' open, albeit guarded personality and overall suspicion of newcomers in general.

At the very least, they were cordial to one another, which is more than could be said for the few times Harry had seen either interact with Snape.

Snape and Sirius' dislike of one another was nothing new, according to Lupin, Snape had it in for ALL the Marauders, living and deceased, and Sirius would gladly finish the job that Lupin had, albeit unwittingly, failed to complete.

Snape's dislike of VERGIL however, had stemmed not only from the younger professor's cheating him, and Umbridge, out of the DADA position for the fifth year running, but his utter humiliation of Slytherin House during the course of the year. Slytherin had NEVER had so many points removed, even during Malfoy's stunt in third year, where he, Crabbe, Goyle, and Slytherin Quidditch captain Marcus Flint, had dressed up as Dementors to throw Harry off his game. Not only that, but Slytherin's only Seeker, Malfoy, had been permanently banned from playing at Hogwarts by the Headmaster, meaning Gryffindor, who had Harry as Seeker, were virtually undefeatable.

Needless to say, anyone that got caught between the two left the room as quickly as possible, shivering from the sudden, inexplicable chill.

* * *

_End of holidays..._

They had originally intended to be sent back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus, but Vergil had pointed out the folly in this, namely that the Ministry could be monitoring all forms of public transport, and had led the group back to the castle through the fireplace in his office, having gotten special permission from Dumbledore to do so, one time only.

He and Sirius had shaken hands, firmly but politely, the former prisoner all but ordering the Professor to keep an eye on Harry. Vergil had calmly assured him that he would do as he'd been hired to do, before leaving Harry to speak with his godfather, going through the fire first to make sure that there wasn't a certain, toad-like Ministry busybody spying in his office. Once he'd determined the coast was clear, he'd sent all of them, with the exception of Harry, back to the dorms.

"I wont lie to you, Potter." He muttered, sinking into the chair across from him with a frown, Yamato laid across his lap "I've never taught anyone mental defense before, what I've been using has proven effective up till now but that's because I pushed myself to make my mind as secure as possible." He eyed Harry's scar "That being said, MY mind never had a revolving door grafted into it, which that scar seems to provide Voldemort."

"Are you saying there's nothing I can do sir?" Harry asked, his knuckles whitening at the very thought, eyes narrowing in concern, only for Vergil to shake his head.

"What I'm saying, Potter…" Vergil muttered, his eyes boring into Harry's own with a look that sent shivers racing up and down his spine "Is that you can't let your guard down for an instant, even in your sleep your barriers need to be up and strong."

Harry flinched at that, wondering at the kind of mental strain that could require, only blinking as Vergil fingered the golden chain he wore under his shirt, a wry smile on his face.

"So instead, we'll be doing the opposite." The professor noted, smirking up at the confused boy who lived as he spoke "Voldemort seems to think he can pop into your mind as he pleases…let's see how HE likes being read like a dime store novel…"

* * *

_Gryffindor Common Room..._

"He's making you peer inside You-Know-Who's HEAD?" Ron hissed, as the trio sat together that evening before the Gryffindor fireplace "That's, I mean…Harry that's MENTAL!"

"And dangerous." Hermione whispered, ignoring the awful pun that Ron had inadvertently made as she looked over Harry's uncertain features "So far you've been unintentionally seeing things from his perspective right? What happens if he notices you?"

"I said as much to Professor Vergil and he said that, at the very least, Voldemort will strengthen his own walls to keep me out." Harry replied, looking a little uncertain as to that prospect "Which is good, if he knows I'm aware of him then he wont venture into my head as often, but on the other hand…"

"He could just as easily try to gain control of you through the link." Hermione reasoned, earning a stunned look from Ron "Think about it, among all his other dark powers, Voldemort was a skilled Legilimens, he had to be to keep control over all his followers."

"We're taking it slow." Harry assured the girl "So far I haven't really tried anything like that, he wants me to build my own defenses up first."

"That would be the best idea." Hermione agreed, nodding her head in approval, though she clearly looked put out by the whole thing "Just PLEASE be careful Harry…we don't want to antagonize You-Know-Who."

"The fact I'm still alive and BREATHING antagonizes him." Harry pointed out with a wry, sardonic smirk on his face "I don't think my peeking around inside his head is going to do much more than scar me for life."

* * *

The next morning...

Harry read of the breakout at Azkaban, his fingers tightening over the insinuation that Sirius was rallying his old 'death eater comrades', whilst glaring spitefully at the picture of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Well what did you expect?" Hermione muttered bitterly, glaring at the comments from Fudge as she read over the article "He could hardly admit to being wrong. Dumbledore warned him, publicly even, about this too, and he just swept it aside."

Harry said nothing on the matter, but this latest revelation strengthened his resolve at mastering the Legilimency Lessons, as he'd taken to calling it, with Professor Vergil that evening.

It also proved to open the eyes of even his staunchest doubters amongst the students and staff at Hogwarts. Now whenever he walked the corridors, people would whisper in a confused, inquisitive manner, rather than the outright hostility he'd been growing used to.

And he wasn't alone, as the relatives of the escapees' victims were getting a share of the limelight, many of them scuttling along, trying to avoid the whispers and scrutiny from their peers, some of them finally starting to relate to how the Boy Who Lived felt, though they couldn't imagine how he'd remained sane.

As a result of this, on the first day back, Harry and the rest learned from several sources, most notably Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff and relative of the head of Magical Law Enforcement, that Umbridge had been busy in their absence, trying again and again to find ways of questioning the various staff, only to be rebuffed, often physically, due to her lack of official authority and the faculty's ability at making themselves unapproachable, or simply hard to find.

Sadly, with the latest revelation of the ministry's incompetence, the toad had seen fit to draft up her twenty-sixth educational decree, forbidding the professors from discussing anything outside their chosen profession with the students. But seeing as she had no authority outside observation inside the classes, as her frequent interruptions had tried more than a few nerves, it was hard going for her to enforce this rule.

The sole exceptions to this rule were Divination, as Trelawney seemed hard pressed to prove she was THE most competent witch for the job, and Care of Magical Creatures, where Umbridge seemed determined to pin Hagrid down as a threat to society.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your opinion, it seemed Hagrid was still taking part in Professor Vergil's 'optional course for dealing with pests', as he carried on with the lessons exactly as he had the first time, either outright ignoring Umbridge while making it painfully obvious to anyone with a working brain cell in their head why it was NOT a good idea to insult a Hippogriff to its face, which resulted in Malfoy turning an interesting shade of pink.

Fortunately, Hagrid hadn't made this a practical lesson, instead, having them work on poultices used to tend to an injured unicorn foal, the parents standing nearby glaring threateningly at Umbridge despite her being female.

* * *

"They can smell evil they can." Hagrid informed the class, pointedly ignoring the look of impotent outrage on Umbridge's face "Not even thah, they can just tell when summat's wrong with yeh. If'n yeh ever catch a unicorn lookin' at'cher like thah, back away slowly and don' break eye contact."

Harry, who had been feeding the trembling foal an apple, looked up into the eyes of it's sire, who merely nodded it's head and whickered, before returning it's pointed glare at Umbridge, who was standing at the back of the class, well out of range of a sudden rush from the parents.

* * *

Nevertheless, Hagrid had forbidden the trio from visiting him after hours, apparently Umbridge hadn't given up trying to catch him off guard, as he'd caught her scouting out his home a couple times when he came out of the forest. Normally this would have distressed Harry, as he quite enjoyed Hagrid's company, but instead he used the additional spare time to follow through on his assignments, as well as increasing the hours he spent trying to peek into Voldemort's head.

On one occasion, much to his shock, he momentarily succeeded; catching a fleeting image of Bellatrix Lestrange before forcing himself out of the Dark Lord's head, as it was apparent that Sirius' cousin was more attached to Voldemort than even the Ministry believed.

Even the mild sense of revulsion he'd gotten from Voldemort, who apparently shared his teenage foe's opinion of his vassal's state post escape, did little to soothe Harry of the mind-scarring image of Bellatrix Au Natural.

* * *

"Get used to it Potter." Vergil ordered the teen, slapping him on the back of the head to pull him out of his retching "Voldemort might be a Dark Lord and sycophant in the making, but he IS a man, and men have urges." His lips twisted into a very, Snape-like sneer "If you happen across him during such…instances, all the better, for his mind will be otherwise occupied."

Harry grimaced at the man's meaning, tossing up the remainders of his dinner into a bucket Pollux had helpfully provided, before settling down and resuming his mental exercises, this time trying to fortify his mind against the image of Bellatrix's…seductions.

* * *

_Weekend..._

The latest trip to Hogsmeade simply brought about more complications for Harry, who was starting to wish he'd simply stayed ignorant of the wizarding world, almost.

First there was Cho Chang; the Ravenclaw Seeker had cornered him outside the great hall after breakfast and asked if he could meet her at a coffee shop, where they'd sat in awkward silence, making half-hearted attempts at conversation, until she finally broke down and tried to ask him about Cedric, or more specifically, his last hours.

Harry had tried, really and truthfully, to summon the courage to speak about those terrible last few moments when he'd seen his rival and fellow Hogwarts Champion fall to Petigrew's cowardly strike, but had choked up half-way through the telling and fallen silent. Cho, seeming to realize that it was hard on him too, thanked him shakily before leaving the establishment in tears, leaving Harry to make his way to the Three Broomsticks alone, where he was surprised to find Hagrid and Professor Vergil sitting at a table, apparently sharing a drink and each other's company.

"Potter." Vergil greeted, nodding his head to the teen in greeting, even as Hagrid started in his chair, having been lost in thought "Bit wet to be taking a stroll isn't it?"

"I…got caught in the downpour." Harry offered lamely, sidling in and gratefully accepting the chair Hagrid had pulled up for him, noting two fresh cuts and several new bruises on his face "Er-you okay Hagrid?"

"Me?" Hagrid stammered, as if not comprehending what the teen was on about, before waving a large hand dismissively "Oh yeah, I'm grand Harry, grand. Professor Vergil and I were just having a quiet drink. Turns out the two of us…" he shot Harry a look "well, the THREE of us I suppose, got a lot in common."

Harry blinked, looking from the giant, good-natured, but undeniably rough groundskeeper to the regal, elegantly poised and dressed DADA professor, and completely failed to see the connection with himself.

"In th' same boat, us three." Hagrid continued, taking a sip of his pint, or rather his bucket, of Firewhiskey "outsiders the lotta us…an orphans too I suppose."

"My father died before I was born, Potter." Vergil admitted, not looking at the teen that was gaping at him in confusion "My mother raised me and my twin as best she could, but she died when we were not much older than you are now."

"Always a shame when family dies." Hagrid agreed glumly, putting away another long draft of his beer, his face pensive "Family…Whatever yeh say, blood's important."

"Indeed…" Vergil agreed, his own expression indecipherable as he pulled out his pendant, looking the gold encased gem over as if for flaws as he held his glass of Firewhiskey in his free hand "As much as I'm loathe to admit it, my brother and I are the last of our line…our blood is the same."

Hagrid nodded glumly, downing another mouthful of brew, while Harry tried to picture how he fit into this picture. Hagrid's mother was a giantess that had a pretty rough reputation, and Vergil…well so far he'd only mentioned his family in the past tense, with the exception of his estranged twin, but the few times he'd spoken of his mother, he'd clutch that pendant of his.

Harry's sole remnant of his mother, outside numerous pictures given to him by friends and order members, were his green eyes, which everyone kept referencing to Lily's.

But according to Hagrid, his mother and father were dead, and judging by Vergil's latest admission, he was in the same situation. The only difference was that he, and Harry, had blood relations still alive and kicking, though Harry would sooner French-kiss Voldemort than refer to the Dursley's as 'family'.

Caught up by THAT grizzly image, the teen only half listened as Hagrid downed his pint and left, citing some 'unfinished business' left for him up at the grounds. Vergil similarly excused himself, but not before sharing a shot of Firewhiskey with the teen, ordering him a bottle of Butterbeer and leaving while Harry choked the fiery stuff down, just in time for Hermione to pop in with Luna Lovegood.

* * *

_Two days later..._

Vergil quirked an eyebrow as he awoke two days later to the sound of Pollux's excited cackling, the son of Sparda shooting the giddy elf a calculative expression for the disturbance, only for Pollux to hand him a copy of some local wizarding rag called 'The Quibbler', apparently, the house elves enjoyed reading it in their spare time, and Dumbledore saw no need to deny them their pleasures.

Not really caring for what Pollux did in his spare time, so long as it didn't cut into the time he was working for HIM, the eldest son of Sparda ran his eyes over the front cover, one silver brow quirking as Harry Potter's face grinned up at him sheepishly.

_Harry Potter Speaks Out At Last:_

_The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_

_And The Night I Saw Him Return._

'Well played Potter…' the DADA professor applauded, actually impressed with the boy's resourcefulness, making a note to give credit to a certain, bushy-haired Gryffindor prefect the next time he saw her too 'Even if the Ministry tries to cover this up, the fact they let it out under their radar should rattle them all the more.'

"Pollux is borrowing this from Dobby sir." The elf explained, his eyes dancing mischievously as he danced from foot to foot "All Hogwarts elves is celebrating master Potter's resourcefulness! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has hurt many, this way people can be prepared for next attack!"

"I wouldn't get my hopes up just yet." Vergil contradicted, carefully flipping through the Quibbler, noting with distaste that most of it was filled with the wizarding equivalent of UFO stories and fairy tales. Admittedly there WAS the occasional sign of truth, most notably Harry's exposition on why everything Cornelius Fudge and his goon squad spouted was complete and total gobshite, and Vergil actually narrowed his eyes at what was clearly a shot of a Nobody prowling the London sewer system, but everything else could easily be described as complete and utter hogwash.

'No wonder it slipped under the Ministry's radar…' he muttered glumly, shaking his head at a supposed report of a man marrying a sphinx that gave birth to a half kelpie baby 'The odds of someone posting a creditable, important story in a magazine like this, and expecting ANYONE to take it seriously are astronomical…'

By the end of the day, Vergil had resolved to award Hermione, Harry, and a certain loony Ravenclaw a whopping twenty points each for their creativity, privately mind you, as well as see to it that Dante received a life-time, non-cancelable subscription to the Quibbler. It was just too good to pass up.

* * *

_A renovated bar, In America..._

"WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH ALL THESE OWLS?" a certain red clad demon slayer in the making swore, the sound of gunfire erupting from his renovated bar/residence, mingled with the outraged hoots of a flock of nocturnal predators as they swarmed around him, bombarding him with feathers and partially digested rodents "SHIT! MY JACKET! YOU BASTARDS BETTER HAVE EXACT CHANGE FOR THIS!"

Needless to say, the representatives for PETA were NOT amused when they turned up later that day. But then, being chased off the property by a young man in his late teens, wielding a rather nasty looking sword in one hand while firing a pistol at an irate flock of owls that turned their murderous attention to THEM, would ruin anyone's day.

* * *

Another Dante Cameo, just because I can.

Who says Vergil was the mature twin?

Review for more.


	12. Chapter 12

Aside from backtracking to fix earlier chapters, this is going rather well.

Why in the hell does FF's formatting keep changing? Honestly, you can't even put ? and ! together anymore

How am I supposed to get a yelled question across now?

* * *

Seen and Unforeseen.

The results from reading Harry's interview in the Quibbler that morning were mixed, at best, but nonetheless enjoyable to the Boy-Who-Lived.

On the one hand, the fact the interview had been carried out by Rita Skeeter of all people, even under the threat of her being revealed as an illegal animagus by Hermione, had left a foul taste in the teen's mouth. One does not forget being used as a source for gossip so easily, especially when they fabricate facts regarding your private life.

He could have died a happy man without people, particularly any Slytherins, knowing he'd spent eleven years of his life in a cupboard under the stairs, and the less said about the rumors regarding him and Hermione the better.

On the other hand, the name Rita Skeeter STILL carried a bit of journalistic clout from her glory days prior to the conclusion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which meant that even if the public doubted the contents of the Quibbler, they couldn't deny the fact that this was a Skeeter interview, which meant at the very least there was a smidgeon of truth buried beneath all the delicious, scandalous dirt.

This, naturally, brought in mixed reviews, from the people that caught word of the article. Over half the letters Harry received at breakfast that morning were from Witches and Wizards that affirmed their belief in Voldemort's revival and vowed to stand by him, whilst the others were divided between those that deemed him as barmy as Fudge would imply, or torn between wanting to believe him and wanting to wish it weren't true.

Harry, surprisingly, found both sides of the response to be most heartwarming. It was like all the fire and bile in his chest that had built up from Fudge's slander campaign and Umbridge's interfering at Hogwarts had begun to die down, as he finally got a look at what the wizarding public thought of him without Fudge and his censors butting in. It certainly gave him a healthy respect for the power of the press.

Though he had to admit, as he hastily stuffed several, clandestine photos of young, and some not so young, witches out of sight, that he didn't quite expect such a turn out.

Yes he knew that he was still famous, albeit a jaded fame, but he'd never experienced such a turnout from an interview before. The last time he'd gotten one it had been Hermione that had been on the receiving end of the public's opinion, though thankfully they'd managed to clear that up relatively quickly once Hermione had trapped Skeeter in a jar.

"Phoar! Look at this one Harry!" Fred teased with a grin, the Weasley twin holding up a photo of a rather well endowed witch as she posed teasingly for all to see "Blimey, keep this up and you'll give Lockhart a run for his money!"

"And that is why I am never giving another bloody interview as long as I live…" Harry muttered, snatching the photo away and sticking it back in the envelope, out of sight of Hermione and Ginny's disapproving glares, just in time to avoid it being seen by a certain Ministry Toady as she sidled up behind them.

"WHY have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked slowly, eyeing the multitude of owls in suspicion, as she hadn't been expecting so many to get through the ministry's net. The owls, in return, eyed her with obvious distaste, as they could smell a rat, literally and figruatively, no matter WHAT form it took.

"Oh, just answering some fan mail." Harry replied with a bored tone, earning a look of surprise from the twins as he pulled off a passing rendition of Gilderoy Lockhart's foppish expression that caused Ron to snort pumpkin juice out his nose and Hermione to frown disapprovingly "It's such a hassle being famous really," he sighed, shaking his head dramatically "why just the other day I had to turn down no more than ten offers for marriage…I think you'd agree I'm a bit young for all that, Ms. Umbridge?"

"Quite…" Umbridge muttered, the High Inquisitor narrowing her eyes in suspicion, only to sniff pointedly and turned away from the Gryffindor table, having apparently caught sight of one of the posing pictures that Harry had pointedly left on the table "Just see to it that you don't start spreading the wrong ideas to your…fan club, Mr. Potter."

"You are one smooth bastard Harry…" Fred whispered, the Gryffindors watching as Umbridge sidled away, George smirking the moment her back was turned as he punched the smaller teen on the shoulder "If you ever want Fudge's job…"

"I think I'll pass on Wizarding Politics." Harry cut in, the Boy Who Lived shaking his head in bemusement as he put the photo of a French witch that bore a passing resemblance to Fleur Delacour away "From what Kingsley told us, it doesn't seem to be doing Fudge's mental health any favors." He narrowed his emerald eyes into a determined scowl "Wizarding LAW on the other hand, is something I intend to brush up on…especially if Umbridge and the rest of the Ministry keep trying to pull one over on me."

"Too right." George agreed, shaking his head and waving a hand in front of his face as if to ward off any troubles "Rumor from Kingsley has it that Fudge's REALLY losing it, what with Umbridge finding nothing on Dumbledore OR you to report back on."

Umbridge's high pitched shriek of indignation echoed through the hall, the group looking up just in time to see the High Inquisitor chased out of the hall by a flock of owls that Harry dimly recognized from amongst the those that had brought letters from his supporters, a triumphant Hedwig at the fore. It seemed that Umbridge wasn't too popular outside of Hogwarts either.

Though in truth, it was probably the result of Dobby sneaking owl treats into the woman's hair with his magic, as the elf did not take to kindly to those who dared to besmirch the name of the 'Great Harry Potter'.

Not that Harry would ever learn this, but then the boy who lived had more than enough on his plate at the moment.

* * *

Later that day...

News of Harry's interview in the Quibbler soon spread like wildfire throughout the school, students gossiping amongst themselves in the hallways whilst coveting the few remaining copies that hadn't sold. It appeared that even Harry's disbelievers wanted a piece of the action, no doubt to mock his 'feeble attempt at garnering attention', but this just drove the true believers to greater heights, as they fought tooth and nail to be the first to get the latest reprint off the presses.

Umbridge of course, was being kept in the dark through the loathing she'd accrued from the students, including the Slytherin's for her treatment of Malfoy, and Dobby routinely letting a flock of irritable attack-owls out of the Owlery to assault her at random intervals. It got so bad that she often disappeared to her chambers for days on end, and stopped coming to the Grand hall for meals altogether. Everyone noted a marked improvement in the quality of the food, and so didn't complain.

The best of it all was the support Harry was receiving from everyone, including the Hogwarts staff, who while honor bound not to show favoritism, not that this was difficult for Snape, nonetheless showed their approval in small ways that brought a smile to Harry's face, like Sprout awarding him ten points for passing a watering can, Flitwick offering him a box of squeaking sugar mice, or Trelawney weeping as she predicted him dying of old age, surrounded by his twelve children, after becoming minister of magic.

Some, however, were less open in their approval. Dumbledore's eyes, whenever Harry met them in the great hall, would twinkle with mirth as he winked at the teen, McGonagall would offer him the smallest of smiles and nod whenever class ended, and Hagrid...

Well, the lesson composed of handling Kneazle cubs had been sheer madness, Harry had never heard so many foul curses hurled at him in his life. As such, he made a note to purchases a Kneazle as soon as he was out from under the Dursleys' roof.

However, the most taciturn professors turned out to be the most surprising in their approval of his actions. Vergil, of course, said nothing, but instead set an entire week of practical lessons, wherein the Gryffindors put their hard earned skills to good use against Marionettes, which were a lot more durable than they looked.

But the biggest surprise had been Snape's handing back Harry's assignment, never looking at the boy as he did so, the teen gaping down at the parchment to find an E looking up in the professor's elaborate script.

Of course, the moment was ruined ten seconds later by Snape tormenting poor Neville on receiving a D on the assignment, even though Crabbe and Goyle had only barely scraped a T.

Still it was nice to know that good things happened to good people now and again, even if it WAS just an intermission between the next attempts of the universe attempting to screw him over.

* * *

The week passed quickly, with Harry dividing his attention between studying, Quidditch, keeping an wary eye out of Umbridge, Filch and Ms. Norris, and taking frequent trips into Voldemort's head when he was certain the Dark Lord was occupied…which was becoming more and more frequent as Bellatrix's condition improved.

Needless to say, he was learning things about Tom Riddle that he'd rather not have known, such as exactly HOW he'd managed to amass such power and prestige before becoming Lord Voldemort. Nobody wanted to see an old woman, clearly grandmother material, simpering over a young man freshly out of Hogwarts, Riddle certainly hadn't.

He was also picking up on some rather impressive spells, though he was careful not to probe to deeply into the man's mind, as what little he'd read up on Occulamency had warned him that this could result in Voldemort growing more aware of his activities.

One thing that he had glimpsed during his brief tenures in Voldemort's minds had been a single word, 'Horcrux', but other than the fact that Voldemort had been stroking Nagini at the time, the Boy Who Lived hadn't been able to fathom what the word meant…for all he knew it was the breed of the serpent.

Still, the fact that Voldemort had been thinking it, coupled with the sense of…SUMGNESS, that had encompassed the Dark Lord's thoughts, hadn't sat well with Harry at all, and he resolved to look into the matter at the first possible moment.

* * *

_Gryffindor Common room..._

"Bloody hellfire…" Ron muttered, collapsing into one of the large, comfortable armchairs in front of the Gryffindor house fireplace in defeated exhaustion "And I thought that Sparda bloke was hard to find…"

"It would make sense though, wouldn't it?" Hermione reasoned, skimming over a book she'd borrowed from the restricted section, Vergil had given them permission, with a dark look on her face "If Harry's right, and these 'Horcruxes' are one of Voldemort's aces, then it stands to reason they'd either be something incredibly dark, or something he'd created himself."

"Probably BOTH with my luck…" Harry muttered, shaking his head in annoyance as he tried to focus on the task at hand. His head always felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool after the Legilimency sessions, and it was making it very hard to concentrate on the faded text before him.

"You think Dumbledore might know?" Ron asked, posing the question with a smidgeon of hesitancy, knowing from experience that Harry wasn't so inclined to trust the aged Headmaster as much these days.

"Probably, but he's busy." Hermione muttered, a scowl marring her features as she closed her own, crumbling tome in stubborn defeat, only to start on another "Good grief, the things some of these dark wizards come up with…"

"Tell me about it…" Ron chuckled, recalling the one about the crackpot that had tried summoning a tentacle demon to curse his ex, only to summon one that was more inclined to men "You sure it wasn't just You-Know-Who spouting names Harry?"

"Whatever the hell a Horcrux is, Voldemort obviously felt pretty confident about them." Harry muttered, closing a book on ancient runes and shoving it aside "In any case, even if it's simply something he uses to take the edge off, the more I know about him the better."

The fact he'd rather NOT know about the dark lord's private life, and what went on during such moments, was left unsaid.

* * *

_Vergil's office..._

"You're certain of this?" Vergil muttered, the son of Sparda's brow quirking as he looked into Harry's eyes, the Boy Who Lived having just recounted another one of his excursions into his enemy's mind.

Things had been progressing rather well of late, as Harry had been routinely checking in with his reports, usually only small things, like some new spell he'd dug up or a bunch of names which could be added to the supposed 'Dark Lord's' list of conspirators, but occasionally, like tonight, something BIG would land itself in the Boy Who Lived's already swamped lap.

"It was quite vivid sir…" Harry muttered, accepting a cup of Firewhiskey from Pollux to take the edge off the chill, choking the first mouthful down "Whatever Voldemort's after, it's in the Department of Mysteries."

"Which means he has his talons into the Ministry." Vergil mused, the Son of Sparda sitting back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. He'd been quietly musing over the text he'd received from Dumbledore, losing himself in the recounting of his Father's many, many achievements, when Harry had all but broken the door down with his hammering, needing a few minutes, and a glass of Firewhiskey, to compose himself before revealing this latest transgression.

Apparently Voldemort had been displeased with one of his lackey's failings. Nothing new there, the man was not known for his leniency when it came to failure, but according to Potter, this latest failing had apparently set them back several weeks, if not months of careful planning, so whatever Riddle had planned for the Ministry, they'd been going on for some time now.

Truth be told Virgil had been expecting something like this for some time. The ministry had already proven, time and time again, how corrupt it was. What with Fudge's crusade against Dumbledore and Potter, his blind refusal to open his bloody eyes, to accept that his happy little reality was falling apart around him, it was no wonder that vipers had begun converging on the stricken animal that was the Ministry. Hell, were Umbridge not so dreadfully incompetent, Virgil would have suspected her to be one of the so-called Dark Lord's underlings.

'Though considering Riddle's penchant for surrounding himself with incompetents…' he muttered, snorting wryly at some of the tales Sirius and Moody had regaled him with at Grimmauld Place during his stay 'Perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised…'

"Are the dreams coming more frequently?" he asked suddenly, looking up and seizing Potter's emerald stare with his own steel blue, his features inquisitive "You aren't experiencing sudden flashes?"

"They only seem to occur whenever I reach out sir." Harry admitted, the boy-who-lived shifting a little uncomfortably under the man's unnervingly sharp stare, "Though sometimes, like the one with the snake…"

"Understandable." Vergil offered with a curt nod "Occlumency is a difficult enough art to master in itself, and the practitioner normally doesn't have a two-way connection between them and their worst enemy. Personally I think you've done rather well to get this far."

Harry inclined his head, accepting the Professor's praise, or whatever it was, gratefully. He'd come to learn that Vergil wasn't the type to give praise often, but he was fair, if methodically so, and spoke his mind whenever he pleased.

In a way he was like Snape, though Harry would never dream of voicing such thoughts, even inside his head.

"Well that's certainly something to tide over…" Vergil muttered, tapping two fingers before his lips in thought, before rising from his chair "Well Potter, I think it's about time you were heading-!"

He trailed off, his head snapping towards the door as a woman's shriek filled the air, noting with approval that Harry's hand had instinctively gone for the handle of his weapon, even as he advanced on the door.

"Did you see anything suspicious on the way here, Potter?" he asked, scowling as the teen shook his head, before marching out the door, a sheathed Yamato held in his hand as he strode down the corridor, the blue tails of his coat trailing behind him like wings as Harry hurried after him, sword in hand.

Another scream tore through the air, a different woman this time, Vergil's sharp hearing instantly deducing the noise was coming from the entrance hall and changing direction immediately, the duo arriving on the scene with a look confusion.

* * *

The entrance hall was jam packed with students from all four houses, some in their nightgowns, the fifth years and upwards standing with their weapons drawn and looks of wariness on their features, having clearly been roused by the noise.

On one side of the hall, clinging to a ratty trunk that had seen better days, lay Sybil Trelawney. Normally a sight to behold to begin with, the divination teacher looked a sorry state this night, with her glasses lopsided, her shawls hanging off her, her hair in a mess and a bottle of sherry held in one hand, the other gripping her wand tightly in a death grip as she sobbed into the trunk, looking for all the world like she was falling apart at the seams.

On the other side of the hall, looking absolutely terrified at the mass of armed students that were surrounding her, was Dolores Umbridge, the Ministry Toady backing up against the wall with her wand held before her, as several of the students were glaring at her threateningly.

"WHAT is going on here?" a commanding voice barked, the student turning as Minerva McGonagal waded through them, the ranks breaking to let her pass like Moses parting the ocean, only to pull up short at the sight of Trelawney "Good Lord Sybil!" she exclaimed, eyeing the distraught 'seer' in surprise "What on Earth's the matter?"

"I refuse to accept it!" the distraught divination professor wailed, looking up from her sobs to thrust her wand towards Umbridge, who flinched despite herself "I've b-been here S-sixteen years!" she hiccupped "S-she CAN'T sack me!"

"I can and I shall!" Umbridge snapped, irritable at the scene and the sight of so many armed students glaring at her. Bad enough that the useless charlatan had raised such a fuss, after all, how could she NOT have expected this outcome after the appalling show she'd given, but because of her screams rousing the students, Umbridge had unintentionally made a fool of herself "There is no need for useless wastes of space here in Hogwarts."

"Said the pot to the kettle…" someone muttered, Umbridge's heated glare only serving to encourage the mocking sniggers that were directed at her from the crowd.

McGonagal, with surprising gentleness considering her normal disdain for the distraught woman before her, walked over to the trembling Trelawney and patted her consolingly on the shoulders. "There now Sybil," she offered, drawing a large tartan handkerchief from her robes for the woman to blow her nose "Nobody's going to make you leave Hogwarts."

"Oh REALLY, Professor McGonagal?" Umbridge demanded in a deadly voice, the High Inquisitor advancing on the Deputy Headmistress, only to pull up short as several Gryffindors changed their stances, not threateningly, but pointedly enough that the woman stopped her advance "And your authority for that statement is…?"

"That would be MINE." A deep voice intoned, the students and faculty alike whipping round as the giant, oaken doors of the main hall swung open, those students closest to it scuttling out of the way as Albus Dumbledore strode forward, the look on the headmaster's face far from amused, though nowhere near the anger that Harry had seen when he'd stunned Crouch-As-Moody last year.

* * *

Off to the side...

'The man knows how to make an entrance.' Vergil noted with approval, the blue-clad Son of Sparda smirking as the students whispered excitedly amongst themselves, deciding to step back and watch the show from the sidelines, as it seemed the old codger was finally getting off his ass to deal with the ministry toady.

"YOURS, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge repeated, Vergil noting with wry amusement that the toad's voice seemed to quaver a little uncertainly to his advanced hearing, though she covered it well with her unpleasant little laugh "I'm afraid you do not understand the situation," she insisted, reaching into her horrid pink pullover with a superior little smile "I have here-"

"As charming as reading one of Cornelius' little edicts would be." Dumbledore cut in, his eyes twinkling as he caught Vergil's, even as Umbridge's widened in alarm "I must point out that, while you can dismiss my faculty from their position, you CANNOT evict them from their lodgings here at Hogwarts." He smiled at the stunned form of Trelawney, who was gaping up at him like some sort of savior "That, I'm pleased to say, remains a right EXCLUSIVE to the headmaster, and so I must trouble you, Minerva, to escort Sybil back to her chambers."

"Of course." McGonagal agreed, the Transfiguration Professor nodding her head to the Headmaster in understanding as she helped a sobbing, with relief rather than distress, Trelawney to her feet, guiding the trembling women towards the stairs, the students parting once more as Flitwick brought up the rear, the Charms Professor having charmed the two trunks so that they followed the duo up the stairs.

While all this was going on, Umbridge was staring intently at Dumbledore, as if trying to set him alight under the force of her stare. Vergil noted her wand arm tensing repeatedly several times, and would have moved into a stance had his eyes not caught Dumbledore's at that moment, the Son of Sparda relaxing by a hair at the look hidden in that benign smile, and the sight of the aged wizard's own wand held at the ready, just outside Umbridge's line of sight.

"And what…" Umbridge began in a dangerous whisper that echoed around the hall, the High Inquisitor looking like she'd been forced to swallow a particularly uncomfortable venom "are you going to do with her when I appoint a Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh that won't be a problem." Dumbledore assured her with a pleasant smile, his eyes twinkling in a way that made Virgil scoff, the old man was ENJOYING this "You see I have already FOUND us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've FOUND-?" Umbridge shrilled, her eyes bulging out of her head in her ire as she gaped at the Headmaster, the complete opposite of his calm demeanor, only to compose herself, barely, though the anger in her tone was evident "YOU'VE found?" she repeated, her tone dangerous "Might I remind you, Dumbledore," she ignored the scowls she received from several students scowled at her dropping of the Headmaster's title "that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two-!"

"The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if…" Dumbledore held up a finger for emphasis "and ONLY if, the headmaster is unable to find one." He smiled serenely at the toad like woman "And I am most happy to say that, on this occasion, I have succeeded."

Virgil frowned, his sharp hearing catching the sound of hoof steps echoing through the mist that stood outside the main doors. Turning his head, the Son of Sparda watched as a tall figure clopped up steps of the castle, one silver brow rising in grudging surprise as Dumbledore's latest recruit made his appearance.

From the waist up, he was a man, a strikingly handsome one Virgil was not afraid to admit, with long, wild, White-Blonde hair that had never seen a comb and looked all the better for it. From the waist down however, his body was that of a horse, a large palomino if Virgil had to hazard a guess, though he was no expert on mortal breeds.

'A centaur." The blue-clad Son of Sparda muttered, even as Umbridge's irate, toad-like features turned an interesting shade of puce as she swelled up in anger, which wasn't helped by Dumbledore's genial introduction of the star-gazer to the gathered students 'I suppose he could have done worse…they ARE some of the foremost masters of prophesizing.'

The problem was that Virgil recalled Centaurs to be a HIGLY secretive breed, one that didn't willingly surrender information on the future unless they deemed it absolutely necessary. It was annoying, particularly when you needed said information NOW, but then Virgil had to admit it served a purpose, as it kept said information from falling into the wrong hands.

'Like mine…' he mused softly, recalling how the centaurs had warned him away from their woods the numerous times he'd drawn close, watching with interest as Dumbledore led the centaur off to get him settled in, leaving Umbridge to fume in the middle of the entrance hall as the students sidled off to bed 'Still…I suppose I have to tip my hat to the old codger…I wonder what he offered him to get him to come…?'

Whatever it was, the Son of Sparda mused, as he noted the nigh-undetectable hoof marks on the centaur's body, it had better have been worth it.

* * *

it seems the whole campus has gotten involved in the latest sport of Umbridge bashing, though I have to admit, Dumbledore and Vergil are the reigning champions.

How will this little wrinkle affect Vergil's tenure at Hogwarts?

Who knows?

Review to find out!


	13. Chapter 13

I'm seriously in need of bed rest, what with my cold, but since this fic was WAY overdue, and i had the chapter ready, I figured why not?

Don't expect any miracles now, this is my last update until i get better or pass my Masters degree, whichever comes first.

* * *

Seers and Politics.

Two days after the sacking of Professor Trelawney found Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting at the Gryffindor table, having breakfast before their first lesson of the day with Firenze.

Needless to say, the female Divination students were quite in a tizzy over the new professor, something Hermione, and Harry, found both highly annoying, and degrading. After all, so what if Firenze was rather good looking? It didn't change the fact he had the body of a horse from the waist down, something which was all to obvious as, instead of heading up to Trelawney's tower room, the class found themselves marching towards Classroom eleven, a ground floor classroom that wasn't that far from the great hall.

Now Harry was used to seeing a lot of things, some of them beautiful, some of them terrifying, all of them unusual, but when he walked into the classroom, which last he'd known had been neglected and unused, and found himself standing in the middle of a forest clearing, he actually found himself momentarily stunned.

"Harry Potter." Firenze greeted, the centaur standing in the center of the clearing, where there were no trees, holding out a hand to the Boy Who Lived, who shook it accordingly "It was foretold that we would meet again."

Harry, who after spending more time with Trelawney than he'd care to recall, and thus didn't put much stock by prophecy, merely nodded his head and turned to join the rest of the class, who were eyeing him with something akin to wonderment at his familiarity with the, admittedly wild, looking centaur.

"Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us." Firenze explained to his students, gesturing to the clearing for emphasis "I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which until Monday, was my home…but that is no longer possible."

"Please-er-sir…" Pravati Patil asked, the Gryffindor raising a hand breathlessly as she eyed the Centaur shyly "Why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!"

"It is not a question of your bravery." Firenze assured the young woman solemnly "But of my position. I cannot return to the forest. My herd has banished me."

Harry flinched, wondering if the hoof marks that adorned Firenze's chest belonged to Bane, a darker haired Centaur that had denounced Firenze as a 'common mule' for allowing Harry to ride on his back in his first year.

"Let us begin." Firenze instructed, ordering the teens to lie on their backs, the lights of the room dimming, as if the sun were setting, revealing a starry night sky that earned a series of 'ooh' and 'aah' from the class, and in Ron's case an audible 'Cor, Blimey!'

"Observe the heavens." Firenze instructed, his tone calm "Here it is written, for those who can see, the future of our races…"

* * *

_Harry's POV..._

Harry only half listened at first, as truth be told he didn't really think much of Divination, mainly a result of overexposure to Trelawney, but gradually he began to listen in, particularly as Firenze denounced Trelawney, and most other mortal seers, as if not charlatans, then self-gratifying attention seekers, before going on to explain how Centaurs, who'd been mapping the heavens before human's evolved the ability to look up, went about things.

He didn't particularly like the idea that the current peace, if you could call it that, was simply the calm between two separate wars. For one thing, it sounded right on the money, and eerily portent.

However, the thing that most perplexed the Boy-Who-Lived was the warning that Firenze had bestowed upon him, 'Tread Lightly Where Devils Fear', a cryptic wording that was at the same time more ominous than anything he'd heard before.

Though the message that Firenze asked for Harry to pass on to Hagrid, that 'his efforts were in vain' or something to that order, was by no means less perplexing. If anything, it made Harry all the more nervous, as whenever Hagrid started a project, it usually involved fangs teeth and grievous bodily harm for everyone involved.

Nonetheless, he resolved himself with finding a way to get the message across, though how he'd manage to do it without Umbridge listening in was proving most problematic, as the High-Inquisitor had started attending all CFMC lessons in a desperate bid to discredit Hagrid, which the half-giant continued to foil thanks in part to the careful coaching from Professor Virgil and Hermione.

In the end, Harry decided to go about things in a more, roundabout route, as Umbridge's beady little eyes had been following him a lot of late, especially when he was around people he'd deem 'friends'.

* * *

_Later, with Virgil..._

"Potter came to me earlier today." Virgil stated, sitting across from Hagrid, having come for a quiet drink in the groundskeeper's hut, an excuse to coach the giant and a means of passing the time, as Hagrid had a fair few interesting tales regarding the forest denizens, and a fine collection of not-quite-legal beverages "I believe Firenze wished for him to pass on his misgivings regarding your sibling."

"Firenze's a nice bloke." Hagrid muttered gruffly, his beard bristling slightly as he poured himself another massive tankard of beer that could've poisoned an elephant "But he don' know what he's talkin' abou' on this."

"I wouldn't question a centaur's wisdom so lightly." Virgil cautioned, though he inclined his head to show he understood where the Half Giant was coming from. After all, much as he despised his sibling at times, family was family, there were some things that you just had to put up with…although Virgil would still prefer to keep the idiot at sword's length "Just make sure that toad doesn't catch wind of it. You know she'll find a way to make Dumbledore responsible."

"Aye…" Hagrid muttered, his beard now visibly bristling as he glared at the mention of the High Inquisitor "Too much venom in tha' one, worse n' a death eater in my opinion, least wit' those yer can tell wha' they are."

"Some masks are not so obvious." Virgil opined, quaffing down his own tankard with little concern for the alcoholic effects, only to quirk an eyebrow as he caught Hagrid eyeing him uncertainly.

"Professor…" the half-giant muttered, looking hesitant "Yeh've been mighty good ter me, and I appreciate tha', don't know 'ow I'd 'ave lasted without yer coachin' me…" he looked down at his tankard "But…I was wonderin…if it weren't too much trouble…if somethin' happens ter me…could ye look after Grawp?"

Virgil quirked an eyebrow at the groundskeeper, honestly surprised at this sudden, heartfelt request. Unlike Hagrid, Grawp was a full giant, albeit a small one, being little more than 16 feet tall, which still allowed him to tower over the ten-foot groundskeeper. He also, unlike his elder sibling, retained the natural mannerisms and temperament of their Giant forebears, which basically meant he would smash or try to eat anything smaller than himself that moved, and quite a few things that didn't move.

Now Virgil knew first hand that Giants were far from stupid. Primitive, feral, and simple perhaps, but they could be quite dangerous in groups, size and strength not withstanding, and Grawp had proved to be relatively sharp for his kind, from what little Virgil had seen.

It had only taken Virgil one quirked brow for Grawp to reconsider treating the blue-clad son of Sparda with anything less than absolute respect, most adult giants needed to learn the hard way, which resulted in loss of limbs all around.

A face appeared in Hagrid's fireplace, much to Virgil's relief, as he was trying hard to think of a way to refuse that wouldn't come off as petty, the pair turning to regard the highly concerned features of Minerva McGonagal.

"Ah, Professor Virgil." The Transfiguration mistress greeted, inclining her head towards the younger professor in greeting "I thought you'd be here."

"Is there something the matter, Professor?" Virgil asked, setting his tankard aside with a slight frown as he espied the woman's state "You look flustered."

"The Minister…" and here Virgil detected a hint, the merest smidgeon, of a disdainful sniff in the woman's prim tone "has come to Hogwarts. He says he wishes to…interview the staff, about our qualifications."

Virgil frowned, knowing EXACTLY what, or rather, WHO, had brought this little visit on, only to shrug offhandedly and pick up his tankard once again "Very well Professor." He acknowledged, "Hagrid and I shall be along shortly."

"The Minister isn't the type that likes to be kept waiting." McGonagal pointed out, though Virgil swore he could detect a hint of grudging approval in her tone.

"Well then he should have had the sense to call ahead." Virgil pointed out, catching Hagrid's eye, the Half Giant doing his merry best to keep from snorting "After all, if one cannot follow proper protocol, one shouldn't expect special treatment."

"Quite." McGonagal noted, her lips quirking ever so slightly at the sides as her image faded away, leaving the men to their drinking, where they would remain for at least another hour.

* * *

_Much Much Firewhiskey Later... _

"Ah, Professor Virgil." Dumbledore greeted, his eyes twinkling merrily as the tall, well-groomed DADA Professor prowled into his office past the highly nervous gargoyle, who'd been forced to leap aside after a particularly sharp glare, as Virgil would be damned if he uttered the ridiculous password. Fizzing Whizzbee indeed.

"Headmaster." Virgil greeted, inclining his head ever so slightly towards the twinkle-eyed old man, having come up at his leisure from Hagrid's, leaving the Groundskeeper content in the knowledge that he would 'check up' on Grawp should something untoward happen to Hagrid.

Pointedly ignoring Umbridge, who was standing alongside a frankly pathetic looking wizard in a tatty bowler hat, Virgil's gaze passed over a tall black wizard that flanked the Minister like a professional bodyguard. Upon recognizing the auror, for that indeed was what the man was, Virgil actually felt his respect for Dumbledore's abilities rise somewhat.

After all, getting one of his men so close to the minister as to serve as the man's bodyguard was no mean feat. The old man was certainly a skilled tactician.

"Lemon Drop?" Dumbledore offered, smiling as he popped one of his beloved muggle sweets into his mouth even as Virgil quirked an eyebrow "Oh, where are my manners?" The Headmaster sighed, gesturing to the newcomers "May I introduce Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of the Auror Division."

Virgil said nothing, merely turned to eye the newcomers with his trademark icy gaze. Fudge, like his namesake, wilted under the pressure, stepping back so that Shacklebolt was slightly in front of him, while Shacklebolt, whom Virgil had already met at Grimmauld Place, inclined his head ever so slightly in greeting, to which Virgil responded in kind.

"Minister Fudge has come a long way, unannounced I might add, to check up on the…security of the school." Dumbledore explained, the twinkle in his eyes belying the irritation Virgil could read in the old man's being, a sentiment that was apparently shared by the portraits of his predecessors, who were hissing at the minister, more than a few making rude gestures in his general direction.

"Security?" Virgil repeated, quirking an eyebrow as he turned to level a look at Fudge, who flinched once again, before snorting idly "Really Headmaster, do we REALLY need a horde of Dementors running around the grounds again? I'd have thought the Ministry would've learned from past mistakes by now."

It was rather amusing to watch Fudge sputter incoherently, the man's face bulging with indignation as he choked on his words, Umbridge leveling a vicious little stare at the back of Virgil's head.

"Oh I'm certain the Ministry isn't so foolish as to attempt such a thing a THIRD time." Dumbledore assured the blue-clad Professor, his eyes twinkling pointedly "This is merely a formality, you see Minister Fudge wishes to verify the…credentials…of the Hogwarts Staff."

"I was under the impression that such matters were to be held in strict confidence between the Headmaster and Staff." Virgil opined, still ignoring Fudge, who was beginning to look apoplectic in his fury "Or has yet ANOTHER patch of parchment has been wasted on those 'Educational Decree's that keep cluttering up the message boards?"

"Hem-HEM." Umbridge cut in, her gaze decidedly sharp as she glared at the blue-clad bane of her existence "I would hardly refer to the Minister's Decree's as a waste of parchment, PROFESSOR."

"I suppose you're right." Virgil allotted offhandedly, surprising the woman with his apparent agreement "The House Elves find them most useful bathroom material, firm, to the point and…thoroughly absorbent."

"Be that as it may…" Dumbledore cut in, his eyes twinkling as Umbridge's eyes bulged out of her head in outrage, while Fudge was by now seething incoherently "The Minister has pressed some…concerns, regarding your tutelage…"

"YOUR TURNING STUDENTS INTO YOUR OWN PRIVATE ARMY!" Fudge snapped, stamping his foot and managing to look like a petulant, balding child, rather than the imposing figure he believed himself to be "SWORDFIGHTING AND DAEMONOLOGY? WHAT USE IS THAT RUBBISH?"

"Quite so Minister!" Umbridge shrilled, her eyes glowing with satisfaction as she grinned at Virgil, her sharp, horrid little teeth, what remained from the bludger incident that is, glinting in the light of Dumbledore's office "Why, you'd think you were preparing them for war…"

"I am preparing them," Virgil cut in, his tone decidedly unaffected by the Minister's shouting and Umbridge's smugness as he stared straight ahead, not deigning to acknowledge them "for something decidedly worse than war."

"Demons?" Fudge scoffed, waving a hand dismissively, even as Umbridge tittered in that disgusting manner of her at his side "Those are just old stories from the dark ages, Merlin, next you'll be telling me that-!"

"Funny you should mention Merlin." Virgil cut in, his tone offhanded, as if he were remembering something out of the blue "I do believe he was one of the most famous Half-demon's of his era."

"HERESY!" Umbridge shrieked, even as Fudge started to sputter, Shacklebolt quirking an eyebrow at this revelation "You see what rabble he spouts Minister? He's clearly-!"

"Absolutely correct." Dumbledore cut in, his tone laced with gentle amusement, his eyes twinkling like never before "It's all listed in Twerp's Peerage believe it or not, the unabridged version, which I believe the Ministry still keeps under lock and key due to certain…sensitive materials pertaining to several Pureblood families. I only know because I myself happen to own a copy that belonged to my Great-Grandfather."

"Aha!" Fudge declared, rounding on the Headmaster with a look of manic glee in his desperate, maddened eyes "Possession of contraband materials? That's a crime Dumbledore-!"

"Actually," Kingsley corrected, the tall wizard clearing his throat "It ISN'T Minister. The Original Twerp's Peerage was never officially listed as 'Illegal', the Ministry simply 'requested' that future issues be censored. It isn't a crime to own a copy of the unedited version."

"It isn't?" Fudge repeated, looking back at his escort, a hint of PLEADING in his tone, as if he needed this for his sanity, only to slump bonelessly as Kingsley shook his head, Umbridge glaring at Dumbledore all the while, only to straighten up with a look of determination about him "On the subject of peerage…" he muttered, turning his self-important glare on Virgil, only to avert his eyes from the Professor's stare "There is something I wish to discuss with you, PROFESSOR Virgil…if that is who you really are."

Virgil said nothing, merely quirked an eyebrow in the minister's general direction, though Fudge recoiled as if struck nonetheless.

"You see, the ministry CAREFULLY documents all of our so called 'experts'," Fudge explained, no small amount of pride in his tone "It makes it easier for us to locate them in time of need."

"Such as ensuring they are…unavailable to accept the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Virgil quipped, earning a dark glare from Umbridge, though Fudge, surprisingly, waved a hand dismissively 'So the man CAN act the politician.'

"On that note," Fudge spoke up, eyeing the silver haired man indirectly, not wanting to meet his gaze head on "I found it quite…unsettling, that despite our extensive research, our records show no signs of YOU."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Virgil countered, his tone indifferent "Not only am I not, officially, a British citizen, but I have never worked for the Ministry in ANY capacity, something I consider quite an achievement."

"Quite…" Fudge muttered darkly, glaring at the indirect snub to the Ministry, and thus himself, as he continued to fidget with his bowler "We've also requested background checks with our American counterparts…" he ignored Delores disdainful sniff, as the British Wizarding society didn't think much of their more…liberal cousins "I don't believe they've heard of you there either."

"If you are searching for my Wizarding background, Minister," Virgil cut in, his tone literally sub-zero and dropping by the second "It may satisfy you to know that my mother was, in fact, a witch. I believe she attended Beaxbatons in her youth, I distinctly recalled her introducing me to the headmistress as a child."

"Well that should certainly make it easier to prove his credentials, Cornelius." Dumbledore opened, his eyes twinkling triumphantly "After all, it shouldn't take me a moment to contact Madam Maxime…"

"That won't be necessary Dumbledore." Shacklebolt assured the headmaster, as Fudge, who'd slumped at Virgil's revelation, didn't seem to be able to muster the energy speak "I'm sure we can follow up our own investigations, thank you."

"Indeed." Dumbledore acknowledged, before perking up "Oh yes, on that subject, I do believe it would behoove you to stop by the hospital wing on your way out. It seems that Willy Widdershins, that rogue that's been installing regurgitating toilets, thought it would be a good idea to try and sneak onto the Hogwarts grounds."

"What did you do to him?" Umbridge demanded, the ministry toady's lips tight, eyes bulging at the headmaster, though Virgil detected a hint of fear beneath the anger.

"Nothing more than bandage his wounds and administer an antidote." Dumbledore replied with a serene smile "After all, as a former student here, he REALLY should have known better than to sneak in via the Forbidden Forest."

* * *

_As Fudge sidles off... _

"THAT'S the man in charge of leading the British Wizarding World?" Virgil asked, as soon as Fudge had slunk off with his tail between his legs, a concerned Umbridge slithering after him and Kingsley "Much as I hate to paraphrase my brother: What the HELL?"

"Cornelius was…not the first choice." Dumbledore admitted, his hands clasped before him on his desk "Nor, do I believe, was he the second or third, but when the prime candidate turned the position down, and nobody stepped up to nominate the others, Fudge was left the only eligible choice."

"Eligible for what?" Virgil wondered, sneering internally at the man's inability to even look him in the eye, something even Virgil's students were slowly getting used to "Even the British Prime Minister can command more respect than that, and he's busy trying to keep half of Parliament from slaughtering the other."

"Such a wonderful thing, choice." Dumbledore sighed happily, the headmaster's eyes twinkling with undisguised mirth "Truly one of man's greater inventions."

"You sense of humor needs work old man." Virgil opined, lip curling wry as he turned on his heel, the tails of his coat flapping behind him "If you don't need me for anything else…"

"A word, if you would, Professor Virgil." Dumbledore asked softly, though Virgil felt the power in the old man's words, not enough to be taken as a threat, Dumbledore wasn't suicidal after all, but there was enough to pause the Son of Sparda in his tracks "How goes young Harry's training in Occlumency?"

"About as well as can be expected." Virgil replied, shrugging offhandedly "I only learned it to ensure my thoughts were my own, but then 'I' never had a magical revolving door between my mind and my enemy's."

"You fault me for not doing something about it sooner." Dumbledore noted, it wasn't a question, and the old man seemed to grow older even as he said it aloud.

"It is not my place to question my employer's methods." Virgil countered, though there was an edge of steel there "Though I would have thought, given your power, wisdom, and experience, you would have noticed it earlier, let alone DONE something about the fact the boy has a fragment of a SOUL lodged in his head."

"Then it is true…" Dumbledore sighed, the headmaster slumping in his chair, his already aged features gaining a few more wrinkles "Oh Tom…" he sighed, shaking his head pityingly "you sad, sad fool…"

"I'll take that as a sign you SUSPECTED the presence of a soul fragment." Virgil opined, his tone grim, though his anger was fading in the face of Dumbledore's reaction "If it IS the source of the link between Potter and Voldemort, then it would explain MUCH about Potter's development." He inclined his head "His magic is a lot stronger for a teen than normal, even if you dismiss the idea that he's a prodigy."

"Something our dear Severus would most hurriedly denounce in any case." Dumbledore chuckled, a ghost of his old smile returning as his beard twitched with mirth "And so, does this change your opinion of the boy?"

"I'm not unfamiliar with having to suffer for the mistakes of my forebears." Virgil countered, his eyes flashing coldly as he looked directly into the wizard's eyes, "If anything, it makes me want to ensure that the boy at least sets out with the right footing, rather than sending him blindly in to face whatever it is you've been preparing him for."

"I have nothing but the absolute safety of my students at heart, Professor Virgil." Dumbledore assured him, and here again Virgil got a brief look at the power the old man hid within that aged body, his eyes no longer twinkling "That, without saying, extends to young Harry as well."

"Just so you remember that." Virgil replied, turning on his heel towards the door, leaving Dumbledore staring after the blue clad professor for a moment, only to chuckle, his eyes twinkling once more with hidden mirth.

'He truly is just like his mother.' The old headmaster chuckled, popping another Lemon Drop into his mouth with a smile 'So unable to admit that they've grown attached to something.'

* * *

And that's it for now.

Seriously, when will Umbridge learn? You CAN'T outsmart Virgil! The only thing sharper than his wit is Yamato's edge, and that's a DAMN near thing.

On another note, anyone catch the Black Adder Reference I threw in? If so, give yourself a pat on the back.

And yes, Eva went to Beauxbatons, though how DUMBLEDORE knew her is news even to me. My guess is he met with the Spardas at some point in time, possibly even challenged the Dark Knight at some point.

As for Merlin's half demon ancestry, I forget where i read it, probably wiki, but one of his parents were rumoured to be a demon. Perhaps he's a Son Of Sparda himself?

Hey, Eva's mortal, Sparda probably had several lovers over the centuries before Dante and Virgil showed up.

Who knows?

Review to find out!


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry this one took a while to get out, longer than usual i know, but better late than never.

Let's see what suffering dumb-bitch is set to go through this time.

* * *

Career Advice.

Delores Umbridge stormed into the dusty, tiny little office that she had been allotted for her personal use during her stay here at Hogwarts, the High Inquisitor and all around Ministry Toady gnashing her sharp little teeth, what few remained from the bludger incident, so tightly that they threatened to crack, ripping wildly at her hair as she raged at this latest failure to make any headway in the Minister's plan to curtail Hogwarts to the Ministry's standards.

'How dare he!' she snarled, wringing the air before her heatedly as she recalled the cold, evaluating look that the blue clad bane of her existence had leveled at her employer 'How DARE he mock the ministry in such a direct fashion!'

Not only had Minister Fudge been humiliated, albeit in private mercifully, as the poor man had so much going through his mind as it was without having his good name dragged through the mud any further. How that Skeeter woman could sink so low as to spread such lies in the QUIBBLER of all things, but Dumbledore had managed to pull this latest affront off WITHOUT breaking any of the laws that they'd dug up in order to discredit the old codger. Not only that, but the old coot hadn't even DONE anything this time round, leaving the actual humiliating to that blue-clad interloper, who once again had been directly involved in ruining their plans, including the ones that, Umbridge had been confident, would see to his dismissal.

It had all been rather ironclad, while it was true that yes, the headmaster had EVERY right to select his own staff, something that would need to be addressed later on in Umbridge's opinion, this did not mean he could just grab any lowlife thug off the street who'd survived being cursed. And it CERTAINLY didn't give him permission to seek aid from outside the Magical Community. Hiring from abroad was all well and good, frowned upon on as a matter of civic pride, but hardly illegal, however hiring a MUGGLE, as she was confident Virgil had never used a wand since arriving at Hogwarts, WAS.

But no, much to Umbridge's rage, the report had come in that yes, Virgil did indeed have ties to the magical community, simply not the British one. It turned out the man's mother WAS, in fact, a witch, and had studied at none other than Beaxbatons, considered the French equivalent of Hogwarts. Not only that, but contrary to Umbridge's hope that the man was of inferior stock, the report had gone on to reveal that the woman, long dead, had graduated from the academy at the top of her class, and had served both as prefect, then Head Girl and Captain of their Quidditch team, and was apparently from some minor European wizarding nobility.

So, much to Umbridge's displeasure, it seemed that not only did Virgil have a solid, virtually adamantine alibi, for being involved in wizarding affairs, he apparently, at least as far as peerage went, was FAR more certifiable than the Ministry Toady, despite the fact he'd never so much as lifted a wand.

It didn't help that, unlike the British ministry, their mainland equivalents DID see the value of Demonology, and it was still taught at all European magical institutions, most notably Durmstrang. The Headmistress of Beaxbatons had actually written a letter congratulating Dumbledore on his sense in restarting the program, and offered additional aid in continuing it upon Professor Virgil's conclusion of his term as Professor.

'Savages!' the ministry Toady swore, gnashing her horrid teeth together as she wrung her hands, desperately pacing back and forth as she cursed Virgil, Dumbledore, and the French, with every fiber of her being 'The very idea! Bad enough Dumbledore and Potter are spreading hogwash that Voldemort has returned, now this…Neanderthal, is training students to be soldiers!'

This would not do, she decided, her eyes narrowing venomously as she turned her mind to the task at hand, years of experience in underhanded dealings and behind-closed-doors activities now turning their full attention to this latest threat. If it was the last thing they did the Ministry of Magic would not accept this complete disregard for their doctrine, not while Delores Umbridge remained within a position to do something about it.

The problem was, despite Umbridge's vehement emotion to the contrary; there was little the woman COULD do. High Inquisitor or not, to the wards and staff of Hogwarts, this basically translated to 'Nosy Freeloader', and she was treated as such. Even the House Elves refused to allot her any respect after she'd screeched at a grubby little one in messed up clothes that had cried while she attempted to clean the woman's office.

Needless to say, no elves came to clean up after Umbridge from that moment on, and considering they were also responsible for lighting the fire, this left the room as cold as it was dark and musky.

* * *

_Virgil's office... _

"The Department of Mysteries?" Virgil repeated, Sparda's elder son eyeing Harry with a quirked eyebrow, as he looked up from cleaning Yamato, the boy-who-lived sitting cross-legged before him on the carpet.

"It's where Ron's dad was attacked." Harry explained, flinching slightly at the memory, the green-eyed teen forcing himself to sit as straight as he could as he faced the silver-haired professor "I've been seeing it almost every other night now. Whatever Voldemort's after, it's behind that door."

"And if what you say is true, then he's already infiltrated the ministry." Virgil muttered, recalling the tale of the man that had been hospitalized for breaking in "Honestly…the minister truly brings new meaning to the term 'fudge up', doesn't he Potter?"

Harry grinned at the pun, honestly surprised that the stern faced professor was even capable of making a joke, though it didn't change his feeling on the matter. The fact that Voldemort was getting ever closer to his goal was HARDLY a laughing matter.

Well, unless you were a Death Eater of course, but considering the mental state of the Dark Lord's followers, it was doubtful they even knew HOW to laugh nowadays.

To make matters worse, things had been getting progressively more annoying around Hogwarts of late. Fudge, after returning to the security of his, apparently barricaded office, apparently hadn't taken too kindly to being driven off so easily, nor, for that matter, had he enjoyed having one of his 'informants' hospitalized by the local wildlife.

Within a day, a new decree, stating that Ministry officials would tour the forbidden Forrest to 'remove any threats to the student populace' was put into effect, which was so deliciously ironic that even Snape's lips had curled in a derogatory smile.

After all, where in the hell did Fudge get off sending troops in to 'remove threats' when he'd been the one to who'd sent in every bloody Dementor from Azkaban to patrol the grounds two years ago?

However, considering said officials consisted of Shacklebolt, Moody, and several of their hand picked Aurors, it was doubtful that Fudge's latest attempt at reigning in Hogwarts would come to much, as they'd most likely spend most of their time drinking tea down at Hagrid's hut, though admittedly Moody would bring his own.

Ironically, Harry was forced to admit that, despite her attempts at subterfuge and general underhandedness, Umbridge HAD done something for the students of Hogwarts, in that she had given them, including the Slytherins, a common enemy to despise.

Draco Malfoy had NOT enjoyed the points docking he'd suffered from their first meeting, nor had he enjoyed being permanently banned from playing Quidditch as a result of her scheme to discredit Harry and the Weasleys. This, in turn, was reflected by all the serpents, who did as serpents were wont, and huddled together, plotting ways of making the woman's life HELL for the duration of her stay.

Umbridge wasn't too popular with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs either, the former having taken offense to her attempts to censor their reading material, which to a Ravenclaw was the worst kind of sacrilege, and the Hufflepuffs because of her interference in club activities and general unpleasantness. Hufflepuff was the most social of the four houses, generally getting along with everyone, even the occasional Slytherin, so for the laid-back, fun-loving house, having someone like Umbridge in charge of club activities made for a very poor showing.

It had gotten to the point where even house rivalries were slowly being forgotten, Harry had even noted several members of different houses getting into groups to discuss ways of circumventing the decrees on club activities, as Umbridge, being as petty as she was, still held out on several in defiance of orders from the staff, citing that they interfered with studies.

There had even been a time, when returning from a DADA lesson, that the Gryffindor fifth years had passed their Slytherin counterparts in the hall. Harry and Draco's eyes had met, the two rivals staring intently at one another, only for Draco to nod, not quite a greeting, more an acceptance that Harry was there, and Harry returned the gesture, the two groups moving on their respective way at a slightly faster pace.

It was small, and likely wouldn't last the moment the toad had been routed from her hole in the wall, but it was certainly good to know that, for a while, he wouldn't have to worry about someone else jinxing him in the hallways.

"In any case, I understand that your OWLS will be coming up." Virgil noted, his tone offhand, though Harry caught the steel there "I understand that, normally, you are to be given a paper exam, correct?"

"Normally sir." Harry admitted, though he recalled Remus Lupin's obstacle course from third year with fond memories. It was quite possibly the only time he'd ever performed better than Hermione, the memory of her reaction to the Boggart at the end of the course STILL brought the odd smile to his face.

"Well knowing the theory is all well and good I suppose." Virgil opined, tapping Yamato's blade to test the flawless steel for imaginery imperfections, before eyeing Harry with his steely blue eyes "Nonetheless I expect you all to keep your skills as sharp as your minds."

"Yes sir." Harry agreed, an odd little shiver of premonition racing up and down his spine, before the professor sent him off to bed, Pollux tagging along in case any of Umbridge's tricks lurked in the wings, subtly slipping the elf a sealed parchment envelope before slipping into the Gryffindor common room.

Thanks in part to Professor Virgil's offhanded comment on house elves making 'damn good messengers', Harry had been maintaining a regular letter chain with Sirius, all of which were carried along by an eager, ecstatic really, Dobby, who was glad to once again help the 'Great Harry Potter'.

Admittedly, Harry felt a little bad using the little elf as a courier, but Dobby seemed to like the work and Hermione hadn't said one word about it, still suffering from being told off it seemed. And in truth, it really didn't matter to him either way, for the first time since Umbridge had started watching the fires, Harry and Sirius could communicate without being interrupted, though it was bothersome, having to wait all day for a written reply, as Dobby's duties as a Hogwarts elf came first regardless of his admiration for the Boy-Who-Lived.

* * *

_The next day..._

It was shortly after another potion session, where Harry, while letting his mind wander towards Sirius' latest reply, apparently the man had pushed Mrs. Weasley too far and was now hiding out in one of the many hidey holes in Grimmauld place till she calmed down, had once again managed to create a textbook potion, the Invigoration Draught, without knowingly doing anything.

Naturally, this was much to the silent displeasure of the Slytherins, as temporary truce or not it just wasn't in them to support a Gryffindor, never mind Snape's equally silent contemplation hadn't been any easier to comprehend than the following, cryptic session of Firenze's Divination class, upon conclusion of which the Boy-Who-Lived found himself stumbling, out of breath, into McGonagal's office, having only remembered at the last minute that he was supposed to see her regarding his future career prospects.

"Sorry I'm late Professor." He offered politely, a little winded, though nowhere near as much as he'd have been at the start of term. Training with the Zweihander had become second nature by now, and his once lanky frame was slowly beginning to fill out, aided by his Quidditch training.

The entire Gryffindor team had approved, particularly Fed and George, who reasoned that a bit of 'meat on his bones' would keep him on the Firebolt the next time someone aimed a bludger at him, though Harry thought he'd seen Angelina eyeing him as well for some reason.

"No matter Potter." The Transfiguration Professor assured him briskly, Harry flinching as he caught the disapproving look in her eyes, only to relax slightly as he realized that it wasn't directed at him, but rather at the person sitting at the far end of the classroom, who let off a pointedly obtrusive sniff.

Not needing to turn round to match that sound to the source of McGonagal's, and in truth most of Hogwarts', displeasure, Harry resolutely forced himself to ignore Umbridge, not giving her the pleasure of acknowledging her presence, turning his back to the ministry toady pointedly as he sat down before McGonagal at the Professor's instruction, a feeling of satisfaction washing over him as he felt the horrible woman's glare bore into his back for a few seconds, before picking up her quill.

"Well Potter," McGonagal greeted formally, though Harry thought he caught a hint of approval in the woman's eyes for his actions "this interview is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects to continue into Sixth and Seventh year." She looked at the teen pointedly "Have you had any thought to what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"

"Several Professor." Harry admitted, having prepped this before with Ron and Hermione for their own interviews "At first I considered professional Quidditch, but as much as I like the game it doesn't seem like something I'd like to do the rest of my life."

"Indeed." McGonagal noted, her lips straightening slightly in what, to anyone that knew her, was a small smile, even as Dolores Umbridge scoffed from the rear of the class "And now?"

"Well, I've got three choices now," Harry admitted "though truth be told I'd like to attempt the first two seriously, and the latter's only a last resort."

"Indeed?" McGonagal inquired, looking honestly impressed with the most troublesome of her young lions' forethought on the matter, Gryffindors tended to be only slightly better off than hufflepuffs when it came to career planning "And they would be?"

"Well, my FIRST choice, above all else, would be an Auror." Harry admitted, resisting the urge to scowl as the scratching of Umbridge's quill increased "I think you'd agree that I've got plenty of hands-on experience these past years."

"I believe I understand what you mean, Potter." McGonagal agreed, her lips pursed once more, recalling all the dangers the teen had faced since first year, despite Dumbledore's insistence he had everything under control "However, regardless, you will require top grades if you wish to apply." She informed him, placing a small black leaflet on her desk before them and opening it to read the contents.

"The minimum requirement is five NEWT level subjects, all of which cannot be below 'Exceeds Expectations'." She looked the teen in the eye "Assuming you achieve thus, you will be required to undergo a series of stringent character and aptitude tests at the Auror Office." He eyes softened slightly "It's a difficult career path Potter, they only take the best. In fact, I don't believe anyone has been accepted in the past three years."

"That's what makes it all the more appealing." Harry admitted, smirking to himself as he covered up Umbridge's not-so-subtle cough "I think you'll agree that I do my best when under pressure."

"Indeed." McGonagal mused, her lip quirking ever so slightly upwards "Now naturally, you will require Defense Against the Dark Arts as your main subject, though I also recommend Transfiguration, Aurors can be frequently required to Transfigure and Un-Transfigure in their work. Normally I'd warn you right now that I only accept those that achieve 'E' in their Owls but apparently you've been pulling your socks up this term," her approval was obvious "simply make sure you perform as well on your exams. I also recommend Charms, always useful, and Potions." Her smile flickered briefly "Yes Potter, Potions, though Professor Snape admits that you might not be so 'dunderheaded' as he first thought, he still hasn't loosened his stance on acceptance either, so you'll need to earn an 'Outstanding' before he even considers…" she paused, closing her eyes tersely as Umbridge loosed her loudest, most pointed cough yet "Might I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?"

"Oh no, thank you very much." Umbridge simpered, Harry's hackles rising, wishing fervently that he was alone with the toady and that McGonagal hadn't banned students from carrying weapons in her office. Dobby was currently looking after his Zweihander, as Harry didn't trust leaving it unattended in the classroom McGonagal had set aside for them, and he pitied any fool that so much as looked at the blade sideways "I just wondered if I could make just the teensiest interruption, Minerva?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to refuse you, Dolores." McGonagal countered, her tone professional, though Harry saw the smug defiance in her tone "As High Inquisitor, you are, of course, allowed to sit in on these interviews," here her stare grew pointed "such a shame you neglected those interviews prior to Potter's, they were quite informative, but I'm afraid you do NOT, as I understand it, have any authority to interrupt it."

Harry fought the urge to laugh as Umbridge's impotent sputters echoed from the back of the class, though he did grin up at his head of house in approval, to which McGonagal responded by remaining completely unmoved.

"Now I've heard only good things from your previous DADA Professors." McGonagal informed the teen, though it was left unsaid that two of said professors, namely a certain fraud and death eater, were hardly going to be mentioned "Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject, he actually recommended you seek employment as an Auror." She inclined her head "Professor Virgil has also admitted that you have a certain…flair, for the subject…"

"I think you'll find…" Umbridge called out, her tone decidedly cold "That the Ministry looks into the records of all Auror Applicants, most notably their criminal record."

"I was under the impression that Potter had been cleared of all charges, Dolores." McGonagal countered, her tone decidedly firm "In fact, I do believe that almost the entirety of the Wizengamot agreed that the charges were not only unfounded, but that Harry was well within the edicts of the 'self defense' laws."

"The Ministry of Magic will NEVER employ Harry Potter!" Umbridge snarled, her features now decidedly feral as she glared at McGonagal, whose own features were beginning to redden as her Scottish temper flared.

"Well," Harry sighed, shaking his head with mock disappointment scant second before both witches could go for their respective wands "I guess that does away with option number three."

"Indeed?" McGonagal queried, the Transfiguration Professor calming herself with remarkable control, ignoring the furiously huffing Umbridge in favor of returning her attention to the Boy-Who-Lived "I would hazard that the next minister might not be so…narrow minded, as to refuse you, Potter." She ignored the irate look on Umbridge's face as she reclaimed her "Still, your second option?"

"Well becoming an Auror was always my first choice." Harry admitted, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that would've earned him a years worth of detentions from a certain Potion's master had he seen it "But I figured if I couldn't swing it, I'd like to apply for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

* * *

_Mcgonagall's office..._

The classroom fell silent, save for Umbridge's incensed breathing as she inhaled audibly though her nose, her eyes bulging out of her skull, while McGonagal gaped at the teen in shock, for once at a loss for words.

"Potter…" the Transfiguration Professor managed at last, her voice cracking with emotion, only to clear her throat, a proper cough, rather than one of Umbridge's disgusting ones "Did I hear you correctly?" she asked, wonderment in her tone "You wish to apply as a member of staff?"

"Why not?" Harry asked, his tone polite, though internally he was filing away the image of a gob smacked McGonagal for future memories "I think you'll agree that, outside of Quidditch, DADA is my best subject, it's only natural that any career I choose be inclined towards it." he smiled "Besides, Hogwarts has been more of a home to me than anywhere else, I can't really imagine it not being in my life anymore."

"Indeed…" Umbridge sneered, her tone oddly triumphant as she shuffled closer, only for Harry to continue to ignore her "I think you'll find, Potter, that the Ministry…"

"Has absolutely no power over who may be hired as a Hogwarts Professor." McGonagal countered, her tone laced with grim triumph "That, Dolores, is a pleasure reserved solely for the Headmaster, and I do believe Professor Dumbledore would be pleased with Potter's career choice."

"Oh undoubtedly…" Umbridge muttered disdainfully, glaring at the back of the teen's head, incensed as the boy had the audacity to yawn, her glare washing over him like water off a ducks arse in comparison to Snape's trademark 'I LOATHE you' sneer and Voldemort's 'WHY WON'T YOU DIE?' snarl, "Still, I doubt he'll hire the boy straight out of school…the minimum requirement for the position is at least one years experience in handling sufficiently 'dark' matters."

"I suppose I'm overqualified then." Harry opined, smirking internally as the two women as he counted off on his fingers "Let's see…a Troll, a Cerberus, a possessed Professor, Murderous Bludgers, Acromantulas, A Bassilisk, Dementors, a Hungarian Horntail, Grindylows, Merfolk, a Sphinx, Death Eaters…" he turned to glare pointedly at Umbridge "VOLDEMORT." he turned his back with a smirk as she flinched "All of which have been over the past four years…" he smiled up at McGonagal, who was looking a little pale herself "And I haven't even gotten my Owls yet. I dare say there aren't many that can boast the same, wouldn't you agree Professor?"

"Yes…" McGonagal agreed, calming herself down as she eyed the boy who lived with something between concern and respect "Well Potter, I believe that concludes our interview…you may go."

"A moment, Potter." Umbridge wheedled, still slightly pale at the mention of the Dark Lord's name as she eyed the teen warily "You mentioned a third option…"

"Well yes," Harry admitted, turning to smirk at the woman "But seeing as how the Ministry will 'never hire me' I doubt there'd be much point in running for Minister, would there?"

* * *

_Gryffindor Common room... _

"You are mental." Ginny muttered, even as the elder Weasleys laughed their collective arses off in the Gryffindor common room, a bemused Hermione covering her mouth as she finished her Arithmancy studies "Honestly, saying something like that to one of Fudge's people…"

"It'll certainly give the Wally something REAL to worry about." Fred sniggered, patting Harry applauding on the back "He won't be long for the sack when the public hears of this."

"I can see it now!" George declared, one hand on Harry's shoulder, the other waving through the air as he looked to the distance "Fudge sacked! Boy-Who-Lived elected youngest Minister of Magic!"

"Tell me, Minister Potter," Fred continued, leaning down beside the teen, his voice a passing resemblance to Rita Skeeter's "What will your first course of action be?"

"My first decree as minister is for you two to bugger off and let me finish my homework." Harry replied with a grin, earning a roar of approval from the twins as the group laughed the night away.

* * *

I do believe I'll leave things there.

As you can see, Harry's starting to act a little more like Virgil, truly, the student takes after the master.

who knows what the future will hold? either way, it's certain to be hilarious.


	15. Chapter 15

Suprise...UPDATE!

UPDATE! UPDATE! UPUPUPUPUPUP-UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!

Excellent.

* * *

OWLS.

After completely thrashing the Ravenclaw team in a game of Quidditch, where Ron, in a surprisingly good showing, didn't let a single Quaffle get past, even after suffering a broken arm from a well aimed bludger, the entire Gryffindor house was in decidedly high spirits, though Harry's, admittedly, were rather muted due to the sight of Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, crying at the end of the match, though he was surprised that rather than concern, he felt almost nothing on the matter.

Sadly, however, such things had to come to an end, for the OWL exams were bearing down on them all like the shadow of death, many a student lining up outside the library to check out additional research notes at the last minute, much to the distaste of Madam Pince, who had very strange ideas as to how to run a library, such as making it nigh impossible to check books out.

One benefit was that the teachers had stopped assigning the fifth years homework, and that the majority of their lessons were composed of revising those topics the teachers felt were certain to come up in the exam.

As a response to this, a roaring black-market trade of 'study enhancers' was spreading around the grounds, sixth and seventh year students with more time on their hands bartering with the fifth years, trying to peddle wares that, according to them, could bolster attentiveness, wakefulness, and memory retention, never mind the fact that such materials were, if not outright illegal to possess, then sure to be registered by the message screen over the Owlery, though this apparently didn't stop the fifth years from buying them, including Harry and Ron, who would've wasted good money, Harry's that is, had Hermione not intervened.

Dinner that day was a subdued affair, hardly anyone spoke, and the few who did were trying to memorize their notes for their first exam, Theory of Charms, while the rest tucked into their meal ravenously.

Ron was just about to scold Hermione, who had been neglecting her food to fuss over her notes for the exam, when she'd dropped her spoon, having caught sight of Dumbledore speaking amiably with a veritably ANCIENT group of wizards and witches.

It wasn't that they were old, though a fair few actually looked older than the headmaster, if that was physically possible whilst retaining a pulse, but there was an air of…general age around them, as if they'd been around for a long time and weren't about to shuffle off the mortal coil anytime soon.

Something, Harry noted with vindictive approval, which seemed to unsettle Delores Umbridge, who didn't look too happy at the sight of them. Clearly the Board of Examiners were not amongst those in the Ministry's pocket, which meant the toad wouldn't be able to influence their judgment on the student's progress to discredit Dumbledore.

One last hectic day of studying, followed by a fitful night's sleep, and the fifth years found themselves milling outside the great hall after breakfast, waiting to be called in for examination while the rest of the school buggered off to lessons

'Lucky little bastards…' Ron had muttered, a sentiment that almost everyone, even a disapproving Hermione, had concurred with, even as they were led into the Main hall, the House Tables moves aside, replaced with individual desks and chairs, a stern faced McGonagal standing at the fore, next to an hour glass, turning it over and ordering them to begin the moment the last entrant had taken their seat.

* * *

_Two hours later..._

Harry was feeling rather confident in himself as he marched out of the hall, only half listening to Ron and Hermione as the latter tried to go over the exam again and the former pointedly refused to. To think the very first charm they ever learned, which had helped render a Troll unconscious all those years ago, would be the very first question? Apparently karma had a sense of humor.

Lunch resumed in the main hall on the hour, the House tables magically restored with the conclusion of the exam, the fifth years stuffing themselves gratefully, only to trudge off towards a small chamber beside the hall that had been allotted for the practical segment of the exam, disappearing into the chamber in groups of alphabetical order, though the fact none ever left the same way made gathering intel on the exam impossible.

Ten minutes after Hermione had gone in, along with Anthony Goldstein, Goyle, and Daphne Greengrass, a pretty Slytherin that Harry couldn't recall joining in with Malfoy's group of prats, and Harry was called in, along with the Patil twins and Pansy Parkinson, Malfoy's pug-faced little hanger-on.

"Professor Tofty is free, Potter." Professor Flitwick squeaked, the diminutive professor smiling encouragingly at the teen as he gestured towards an aged wizard who was probably the oldest, and certainly the baldest examiner, sitting behind a desk not far from where Professor Marchbanks was testing Draco Malfoy.

"Potter?" Tofty repeated, peering over the rim of his pinch-nez spectacles at the Boy-Who-Lived, apparently impressed "The famous Potter?"

Harry could've sworn the old man had done it deliberately, the teen looking to the side to see Malfoy looking at him, only to roll his eyes, the Slytherin nodding his head at the elder generation's dramatics, before turning back to face their examiners.

And so the cycle had continued, each day the fifth years would undergo two exams for a particular subject, theory before practical, and then spend the rest of the day prepping for the ones the day after. Harry honestly felt that his Transfiguration written exam could have been better, he'd forgotten the definition of a switching spell despite pouring over it the previous evening, but his practical had more than made up for it, as unlike poor Hanna Abbot, HE at least had managed to vanish his Iguana, rather than transforming it into a flock of startled flamingoes, which had stalled the rest of the exam as they attacked Umbridge en-masse, chasing the woman all over the castle while the examiners did their merry best to round them up.

Herbology, the one subject where Neville was most likely to score higher than Hermione, followed on Wednesday, Harry walking out of the greenhouse with little more than a reproachful nip from a fanged Geranium for his rough handling, with Defense against the Dark arts following on Thursday.

* * *

_With Vergil..._

"I must admit I was surprised when I saw your curriculum." Professor Tofty mentioned in passing to Vergil, having encountered the younger DADA professor in the hallway after the theory exams "Demonology wasn't exactly a popular career even back in my day."

"Quite so, Professor." Umbridge noted primly, sending a triumphant smirk towards Vergil, only to seethe as she realized that the blue-clad bane of her existence was, as usual, ignoring her.

"Still," Tofty admitted, and Umbridge was horrified to see a smile of approval decorating the ancient examiner's features "I must say I approve. I've seen many a demon attack in my day, personally I think the Ministry needed their heads examined when they moved to shut down the Demonology department."

"I've come to understand that, when it comes to making rational decisions, the Ministry has ALWAYS been rather…lacking, of late." Vergil agreed, pointedly ignoring Umbridge as the toady swelled with rage, knowing that Pollux was going to have a field day when he intercepted her messages to Fudge.

"Still, I must admit you've done an EXCELLENT job for such a short space of time." Tofty applauded, much to Umbridge's growing ire "Haven't seen the students so healthy in YEARS."

"The problem with wizards, I've learned," Vergil noted, his tone polite, though if you looked close there was a hint of mockery in his eyes as they flicked, ever so briefly, to Umbridge "Is that they put too much stock by magic, leaving them virtually helpless when a situation arises where it fails them."

"Good to see a young man with his head screwed on." Tofty chuckled, patting his ancient chest with a confident fist as Umbridge stormed off, looking disgusted "Look at me, you think I'd have lived this long if all I did was wave my wand a few times?" he blinked as a bell sounded "Speaking of which, I do believe it's time for the practical exams." He sighed "I only wish that I could see your students in action."

"One can always hope…" Vergil suggested, a small smirk coming to his features as the aged professor blinked up at him.

* * *

_Back to Potter... _

Needless to say, Harry and the others blasted through the DADA exam, with almost as much ease as they had Lupin's. It was rather a shame that they didn't get an obstacle course, THAT was a pleasure reserved solely for the Seventh Years, who emerged from the Room of Requirement looking shaken, but more alive than they'd ever been before.

Instead, the OWL students were asked to demonstrate the spells they'd learned the previous years, and their knowledge of Demonology by reciting, on the spot, the various differences and weaknesses of their infernal foes.

"Oh, bravo!" Professor Tofty exclaimed, the old man having been selected to examine Harry again, clapping his hands when the boy demonstrated a perfect Boggart banishing spell "Very good indeed!" he applauded, looking satisfied "Well, I think that's all, Mr. Potter… unless…" He leaned forwards a little. "I heard, from my dear friend Tiberius Ogden, that you can produce a Patronus? For a bonus point…?"

Harry raised his wand, looked directly at Umbridge and imagined her being chopped into little toady pieces and boiled in one of Snape's potions. His silver stag erupting from the end of his wand as he called it forth, only for Prongs, instead of cantering around the room, to lower its head and charge the terrified High Inquisitor, chasing her out the door and down the hall, all the examiners looked up from their work to watch them.

"Excellent!" Professor Tofty cackled, clapping his boney knee with a veined, wrinkled hand, his face the very picture of good mirth "Very well done Potter! Off you go!"

Harry left the exam feeling both relieved, as he hadn't gotten into trouble, and confident that he'd just received an 'Outstanding' OWL. The following Friday, he and Ron spent the day together, as Hermione was sitting her Ancient Runes exam, leaving the two males of the Golden Trio to make the most of their break, figuring they had the entire day to catch up on their revision, the two stretching out by the common room window, watching Hagrid attend to class on the edge of the Forest while they played Wizard Chess.

Harry was trying to decide whether it was Unicorns again, it would explain why the boys were hanging well back, when the portrait hole opened and Hermione clambered in, looking thoroughly bad-tempered, having apparently mistranslated one rune with another, very similar sounding rune.

"Relax Hermione." Ron offered lazily, unwilling to discuss scholarly matters within the common room if he could avoid it "It's only a little mistake right? Knowing you, you'll still get -"

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione cut in angrily, her usual exam-stress making her more hot-tempered than normal, if that were possible "It could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another Niffler in Umbridge's office." She huffed as the boys sat up at this "I don't know how they got it through that new door, but I just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off - by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg."

"Good," said Harry and Ron together, the two of them vowing to find whoever placed the Niffler there and shake him by the hand, even if it turned out to be Malfoy.

"It is not good!" Hermione countered hotly gesturing towards the window "She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember? And we do not want Hagrid chucked out!"

"He's teaching at the moment; she can't blame him," said Harry, gesturing out of the window, though he frowned as he said it, as from what little he knew, the Toad wasn't likely to wait for proof.

"Oh, you're so naive sometimes, Harry." Hermione muttered, earning a quirked brow from the Boy who lived, and TWO from Ron "You really think Umbridge will wait for proof?"

* * *

_Later... _

Those words, and Harry's prior knowledge of the Toad Bitch, pretty much ruined the teen's weekend right there. He spent most of the time fretting about when the woman was likely to make a move on Hagrid, as proof or not, she apparently had some personal vendetta against him, both for being Dumbledore's man and for making a fool out of her during his lessons.

It got so bad that he was barely paying attention during his potions exams the following Monday, the boy-who-lived only partially aware of what he was writing down for the Theory section, instead glancing furtively towards where the Ministry Toady was leaning against the wall, watching him like a hawk.

While he was confident he'd gotten full marks for the section of the Paper that covered the infamous Polyjuice his mind kept wandering during the practical stage, even the more relaxed atmosphere due to Snape's absence couldn't keep his thoughts wandering to Hagrid's dilemma, so much so that Professor Marchbanks, the examiner, actually had to clear his throat before Harry would stop stirring his own draft.

His fears were soon put to rest, somewhat, when Tuesday's Care of Magical Creatures exam rolled around, the teen resolving to pass this one with Flying colors so as to not let his giant friend down.

The practical examination took place in the afternoon on the lawn on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where students were required to correctly identify the Knarl hidden among a dozen hedgehogs, a deceptively simple trick that involved offering them all milk in turn, pulling back sharply before the Knarl could savage your hand for attempting, in its paranoid mind, to poison it. After demonstrating the correct handling of a Bowtruckle, feeding and cleaning out a Fire Crab's pen, and then selecting the proper diet to offer a sick unicorn, Harry was confident that he'd passed THIS one with flying colors too, enough so that he gave Hagrid, who was watching anxiously out of his cabin window, a confident thumbs up which the Giant returned with a relieved grin.

Wednesday covered the Astronomy theory paper, which Harry felt went well enough, even if he was convinced he hadn't named all of Jupiter's moons correctly. However, since the Practical section would have to be delayed until later that evening, he and Ron were forced to attend the debacle that was their Divination exams, a subject which Harry would honestly admit he had next-to-no confidence in passing.

* * *

_One failed reading later... _

"Well, we were always going to fail that one," Ron muttered gloomily as they made their way down towards the common room after the debacle "Still, at least we can give it up now."

"Thank God…" Harry muttered, shaking his head in disdain "No more pretending we care what happens when Uranus Neptune get too friendly."

Across the world, in the Juuban ward ofTokyo, an Aquamarine haired violinist and a female Race driver sneezed suddenly. At the same time, the two Gryffindor boys suddenly had the strange feeling that they'd missed out on something truly beautiful, only snapping out of it as Hermione came running up behind them, the two snapping to attention in case she took offence to their vapid grins.

"Well, I think I've done all right in Arithmancy" she said with a smile, causing Harry and Ron to sigh in relief, as a happy Hermione was an UNVIOLENT Hermione "Just time for a quick look over our star-charts before dinner, care to join me?"

'Like we have a choice?' Harry muttered good naturedly, allowing his bushy haired friend to drag him and Ron down the hallways to the common room to review their notes, stopping only to grab a quick dinner, before making for the top of theAstronomyTowerjust before eleven o'clock that evening.

* * *

_Fly me to the moon... _

The examiners had picked a perfect night for stargazing, albeit a little chilly. The Moon shone high in the still, cloudless sky, bathing the Hogwarts grounds bathed in silvery light as the students set up their respective telescopes, waiting for Professor Marchbanks

Signal before proceeding to fill in the blank star-chart they had been given, while she and professor Tofty strolled among them, watching as they entered the precise positions of the stars and planets they were observing.

All was quiet except for the rustle of parchment, the occasional creak of a telescope as it was adjusted on its stand, and the scribbling of many quills. Half an hour passed, then an hour; the little squares of reflected gold light flickering on the ground below started to vanish as lights in the castle windows were extinguished.

However, just as Harry was completing the constellation Orion on his chart, the front doors of the castle opened directly below the parapet where he was standing, spilling light down the steps and illuminating a small section of the lawn, the teen looking up from his chart to see what the hell was going on, using his telescope to espy five or six elongated shadows moving over the brightly lit grass before the doors swung shut and the lawn became a sea of darkness once more.

Putting it out of his head for now, the boy turned his attention, and hs telescope, back to the stars, resuming his examinations of Venus, wondering why on earth he kept envisioning white cats and ribbons. However, despite his efforts, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling those shadows had roused in the back of his head, as he'd recognized the walk of the Squattest of the shadows, who'd led the group out of the building.

Harry could care less what Delores Umbridge got up to, provided of course HE, and thos he cared about weren't involved of course, but there was something about the Ministry Toady skulking around the Hogwarts grounds at night with a fellowship of unknowns at her heel that made his hackles rise.

His fears were soon confirmed, as within moments, even as he tried to focus on the starry sky above him, he heard a distant knock which echoed across the deserted grounds, followed immediately by the muffled barking of a large dog which could only have been Fang. Teeth clenching in anger, he turned his attention fully to the distant speck of light that was Hagrid's hut, the door opening to admit six sharply defined figures, before closing once again, the teen turning his attention back to the skies, aware of Professor Marchbanks's eyes on the back of his neck, struggling t recall where he'd been only to jump as a roar emerged from Hagrid's hut, a distant cry of fury that tore across the darkened grounds, the other students looking up in alarm at the sound, ignoring Professors Tofty and Marchbanks' reminders that they were still in an exam as the door to Hagrid's hut slammed open, the Half-giant coming out swinging at the six figures that were surrounding him, firing off stunners.

"No!" Hermione cried, looking horrified a the sight, ignoring Professor Tofty's scandalized reprimand for her outburst, only to blink as the Doors slammed open once more, two figures emerging from within, racing across the grounds towards the disturbance.

Even from this distance, Harry swore he recognized the silver hair and blue coat of one of the figures, and while it didn't set him completely at ease, it DID reaffirm his desire to keep on watching, failure be damned.

* * *

_Shit's about to get real people...! _

Vergil's face was grim as he strode across the grounds, Yamato's sheath gripped in his left hand, his blue eyes, easily accustomed to the Darkness, picking out the disgusting form of Umbridge as she weaved amongst her lackeys, firing off stunners with a sickly leer. At his side an equally enraged McGonagall redoubled her efforts to get there, her wand in hand and a look of such fury on her face that Vergil honestly considered being the gentleman and let her have first crack at the bastards assaulting Hagrid.

While he didn't particularly care for the Half Giant, the man was pleasant company, and he hadn't spent the better part of his free time lecturing him just for Umbridge to try to stun him and haul him off to whatever torture chamber she'd devised to get information out of the Half Giant.

"Be reasonable, Hagrid!" a man dressed like a detective yelled, even as he fired a stunner at the Groundskeeper, only for it to splash harmlessly against him, like water off a duck's back, thanks to his Half-giant ancestry.

"Reasonable be damned!" Hagrid roared, the half-giant lashing out with his massive fists, sending his attackers scurrying back in terror as he left actual craters in his wake "Yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!"

'Good show man…' Vergil scoffed, smirking despite himself as he watched Hagrid uproot a fencepost and HURL it at his tormentors with enough force it actually flew right over his head before landing in the lake. He was dimly aware of Fang scurrying about, the massive boarhound attempting to defend his beloved master by leaping repeatedly at the wizards surrounding him, only to yelp as a Stunner caught him from behind, Hagrid letting out a howl of fury as his canine companion fell to the ground, lifting the terrified culprit bodily from the ground and hurling him ten feet through the air, the man going down with a sickening crack 'Note to self: Don't touch the dog.'

"How dare you!" McGonagall called out, her features so pale with anger Vergil actually had to wonder if she didn't possess some Demon blood herself "Leave him alone! Alone, I say! On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such -"

Vergil cursed, shoving the Transfiguration mistress out of the path of the four stunners that had been sent her way, swatting them away from him with Yamato's sheath, his blue eyes narrowing angrily as he actually felt the attacks STING him a little.

"My turn…" he growled, snapping his fingers, the nearest assailant letting out a shriek as several glowing swords materialized out of thin air, a shriek that soon cut off as they lunged at him, stabbing into him from all angles before exploding messily.

"YOU BASTARD!" one of the assailants shrieked, bringing his wand up, but by that time Vergil was already moving, the Son of Sparda's form a blur of blue and white as he lashed out with Yamato, the assailants screaming as the devil arm disarmed them of their wands, and the hands that HELD said wands, sending them stumbling backwards into the darkness howling in agony.

"Get him, get him!" screamed Umbridge, Vergil dodging the curse she sent his way, a green one which he instinctively knew had NOT been a stunner, firing off another even as her remaining helper, torn between an enraged Hagrid and the murderous, blue-clad swordsman, opted for the greater part of valor and made to run.

"Not likely." Vergil growled, snapping his fingers once again, this time sending a single Summoned Sword through the man's knee from behind, dodging the curse sent his way by Umbridge by a hair, even as Hagrid came up behind the Toad, grabbing her arm and hoisting her off the ground,

"UNHAND ME YOU FILTHY HALFBREED!" she screamed, spitting and thrashing like a captured cat, Hagrid holding her at arm's length to avoid her pointed little shoes and her free hand as she clawed at him "I'M THE UNDERSECRETARY TO THE MINESTER OF MAGIC! I'LL SEE YOU ALL HANGED FOR THIS!"

"I am afraid not, Ms. Umbridge." A cold voice countered, Vergil turning to see Albus Dumbledore striding towards them, the man's eyes like two frozen gems behind his half-moon spectacles as he helped a shaken McGonagall to her feet "As you will, unfortunately, be too busy explaining to the Wizengamot as to WHY you chose to, unprovoked, attack TWO members of my staff in the dead of night…ONE with an unforgivable curse no less." he turned his cold blue stare to the sniveling helper was clutching his ruined knee in terror "A fact I'm certain your associates will prove most WILLING to help you with."

Vergil had to admit, as he watched the look of terror flit across Umbridge's face, that he suddenly felt rather glad at accepting the old man's job offer. It wasn't often you got to see an enraged wizard lay the smack down on his corrupt peers, an enraged Albus Dumbledore was likely to bring the Ministry down around Fudge's bowler hat.

* * *

WHOOP DERE IT IS!

Do i deliver people? Am I forgiven?

For those of you wondering what Vergil loked like in this fight, imagine the cutscene where he was surrounded by devils in the Special Edition's opening, only with less knocking creatures into the air and more hand removal.


	16. Chapter 16

A little gift for Ten Faced Paladin.

Enjoy.

* * *

Ousting and Omens.

Needless to say, rumors soon flew regarding the events of the previous night, the notable absence of not Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, Vergil AND Umbridge, only serving to confirm the rumors, which set the students into a frenzy.

Even the Slytherins, as much as they loathed Hagrid for his ties to the Golden Trio and Dumbledore, had balked at the High Inquisitor's approach. An ambush on Hogwarts' Grounds? With Dumbledore in the castle? Disgraced and stripped of his position as Supreme Mugwump or not, the Headmaster possessed formidable clout, and with the number of witnesses the Toady had thoughtlessly brought with her, it was highly unlikely she'd be setting foot at Hogwarts again anytime soon.

Not that the students cared much for this, if anything, it simply gave them additional reasons to cheer, even the remaining faculty members looking decidedly pleased with the removal of the High Inquisitor, and judging by the quality of the food and the appearance of the dormitories, the House Elves were clearly over the moon too.

In short, by the time their final exam, History of Magic, rolled around at two-o'clock that afternoon, Harry would enter the great hall with his fellow fifth-years with a smile on his face, a smile that was, surprisingly, mirrored by Draco Malfoy, the two of them eyeing one another warily, before turning their attentions back to their facedown exam papers, feeling decidedly awkward.

There was a very good reason for this: On the one hand, the two had hated one another since Year one, a hatred that had worsened as a result of their rivalry as seekers and Harry's fame. However, against the threat of Umbridge, they had been united, somewhat, against a common foe, Serpents and Lions putting aside their differences to make the Toad's life HELL.

Now that Umbridge was gone, however, did that mean they were to go back to squabbling over pointless little things like who could fly better or whose father could beat up the other's? Harry highly doubted they' ever be FRIENDS, perish the thought, but this lack of enmity had been refreshing, a sentiment he KNEW Draco shared judging by the boy's lack of worry lines of late.

"Turn over your papers," Professor Marchbanks ordered from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant hour-glass "You may begin."

What followed next would have been HELL had Harry, content in the knowledge that Hagrid was safe and Umbridge likely picking out her new wardrobe for Azkaban, not gotten a proper night's rest, followed by a good breakfast before a last-minute study session with Hermione and Ron. As it was, while he stumbled a little over names and dates, he at least had the facts straight, blazing through the questions, even the one regarding wand legislations, having read up on them in his bid to garner as much about Wizarding World Law in case Fudge tried to pull another fast one.

He was just pondering why the Wizarding community of Liechtenstein had contested Pierre Bonaccord's appointment as the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, something to do with Mountain Trolls apparently, when his vision swam, and he suddenly found himself walking along the cool, dark corridor to the Department of Mysteries again, his tread firm and purposeful, occasionally breaking into a run, so eager to finally reach his destination.

Once again the black door swung open before him, the youth finding himself standing in the middle of the circular room with its many doors once more, this time cutting straight across the stone floor and through the second, ignoring the patches of dancing light on the walls and floor and that odd mechanical clicking, focusing on the third door as he jogged towards it, passing through until he was standing once again in the cathedral-sized room full of shelves and glass spheres, his heart hammering desperately as he hurried along the aisle between rows 97 and 98.

Unlike last time, however, there was a shape on the floor at the very end, a black shape moving on the floor like a wounded animal, a sight which, to Harry's horror, filled him with a dark, indescribable pleasure.

"Take it for me." He ordered, in a voice not his own, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness, a voice he recognized from that night in the cemetery "lift it down, now… I cannot touch it… but you can."

The black shape on the floor shifted a little, and Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as he raised his wand, which was held in a pale, long-fingered hand. "Crucio!" he hissed the man on the floor let out a scream of pain, attempted to stand but fell back, writhing, Harry unable to stop himself from laughing cruelly at the sight, raising the wand after a moment, the figure groaning as the curse was lifted, but remained motionless. "Hurry." He ordered once again "Lord Voldemort is waiting"

Very slowly, his arms trembling, the man on the ground raised his shoulders a few inches and lifted his head, Harry looking down into the gaunt, bloodstained features of his Godfather as he glared up at him "You'll have to kill me." The falsely-accused convict whispered his eyes defiant.

"Undoubtedly I shall in the end." said the cold voice admitted, and Harry knew this was not HIM speaking, but Voldemort "But you will fetch it for me first, Black. You think you have felt pain thus far? Think again, we have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream…"

But Harry heard him, head the howls of his Godfather as Voldemort lowered his wand again, the boy letting loose a scream of his own as he fell sideways off his chair, and onto the cold stone floor, the shock of the impact snapping him out of his trance, his hand clapping over his burning scar even as the Great Hall erupted all around him. After recovering from his attack, the examiner assuring him it was simply a bout of exam stress, Harry had waited for Ron and Hermione to finish their exams, he having been excused since he'd already, technically, finished, filling the rest of the trio in on the events of his dream, his stomach clenching as he recalled Sirius' screams.

* * *

_Later..._

"I don't know how he got him…" he muttered, looking sick even as he said it "But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls and they're at the end of row ninety-seven." He clenched his teeth in anger "He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there… he's torturing him…says he'll end it by killing him!"

He paused for breath as Ron and Hermione looked at him in horror, their faces so pale they could've passed for Voldemort's children, Harry struggling to get his breathing under control before speaking again "How're we going to get there?" he asked, scowling at Ron's look of confusion "The Department of Mysteries, how can we get there to rescue Sirius?" Harry said loudly.

"Harry…" Hermione began in a rather frightened voice "Calm down…think for a moment…How did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realizing he was there?"

"How the bloody HELL would I know?" Harry Bellowed, regretting it instantly as his friend flinched back from his anger "Sorry Hermione, it's just…I SAW him torturing Sirius, but at the same time it was like I was the one doing it, like the night when Ron's dad was attacked by Nagini."

"I understand that." Hermione pressured, even as Ron flinched at the mention of the attack on his father earlier that year "But this just sounds so unlikely." She pointed out desperately. "Think Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have gotten hold of Sirius when he's been inGrimmauld Plac eall this time?"

"Maybe he wasn't IN Grimmauld Placeat the time." Ron reasoned, though even as he said it, Harry could feel doubt cross his mind, his breath steadying thanks to Vergil's meditation exercises "Sirius might've cracked and just wanted some fresh air. He's been desperate to get out of that house for ages -"

"But why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get the weapon, or whatever the thing is?" Hermione persisted, ever the voice of reason, Harry frowning as he realized it WAS rather strange that the man-who-refused-to-die would use his Godfather for anything.

"You know what, I've just thought of something," Ron muttered, his voice hushed in wonderment, as if he'd had the idea of the century "Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!"

"I'm sorry Ron but that just doesn't make sense." Hermione countered, sighing at Ron's frown at her dismissal "Think about it, Sirius told us himself that he and his brother drifted apart after he was sorted in Gryffindor, and even FURTHER when the man became a Death Eater. Why on earth would he tell SIRIUS and not Voldemort about the weapon? Not only that we've got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there."

"There's one way to find out." Harry muttered, earning a look from the other two, cutting off Ron's exclamation as he did so "We talk to an order member."

"B-But who?" Hermione asked, looking concerned "I mean, Professor's Dumbledore and McGonagall are gone…" she trailed off, eyes widening in shock "Gone to the Ministry! They left earlier today along with Hagrid and Professor Vergil, remember?"

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes widening in recollection, wondering how in the world he'd forgotten that "She's right Harry! We saw them levitating Umbridge and her lot onto the Express ourselves!"

Harry blinked, his emerald eyes wide with alarm as he realized he HAD forgotten that very thing, having gotten up early to work with his sword, which was up in the tower for the purposes of the exams, and had caught a glimpse of the irate high inquisitor, bound, gagged, and completely petrified for good measure, being handled down the steps by an all too eager Hagrid, a calm looking Professor Vergil bringing up the rear.

"So Voldemort CAN'T be at the Ministry, Harry!" Hermione insisted, her eyes wide as she said it "Think about it, even if he was, I don't think he'd be able to slip out beneath Dumbledore's nose as easily as he has Fudge's."

* * *

_London... _

"So THIS is the Ministry of Magic." Vergil muttered, the blue-clad son of Sparda looking around at the political centre of the Wizarding world with a decidedly disinterested frown "I am, frankly, unimpressed."

"Yes, that's rather the look we were hoping for." Dumbledore chuckled, smiling at the man, his eyes twinkling as he stepped into the phone booth outside the closed tailor store which was actually the entrance to the Ministry "Come along."

Vergil quirked a brow, looking on in disbelief as McGonagall forced their captives forward at Wand Point, the injured men, bereft of their wands and handcuffed together to keep them from running, willingly complied, several of them eyeing Vergil warily as he stood to the side, hurrying as he turned his gaze on THEM.

"Minerva, follow through in a few seconds with Hagrid, Vergil and Ms. Umbridge if you would?" the man sounding quite pleasant despite being smothered in several trembling bodies "Now my good mr. Dawlish, if you'd be so kind as to dial six-two-four-four-two?"

Dawlish did so using his sole remaining hand, shooting terrified looks at Vergil even as the Son of Sparda looked on, intrigued by the novelty of it all. 'It's like those old superman cartoons.' He noted, snorting at the irony, remembering how he and Dante would poke fun at the man for flying around with his underwear hanging out, shaking such thoughts from his head as he stepped forward, following McGonagall and Hagrid, the latter of whom was holding the restrained Umbridge by her collar like the world's ugliest kitten, into the phone box, which he realized was enchanted to fit everyone, if a little snugly.

"_Welcome to the Ministry of Magic."_ A cool female voice greeted after McGonagall had dialled in the proper code _"Please state your name and business."_

"Professors Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid, Vergil…" she paused to regard the man in question, who simply quirked a brow "Last name withheld, and Ministery Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge." She scowled in distaste "We're here to report Ms. Umbridge for assault and attempted Kidnapping and Murder via the Killing Curse."

_"Thank you,"_ said the cool female voice, even as Umbridge's eyes rolled madly in their sockets, the toady clearly not liking her situation any _"Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."_

Four badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins normally appeared, McGonagall scooping them up and handing them mutely to Hagrid and Vergil, before pinning Umbridge's onto the woman's horrid pink sweater with a decidedly smug look, Umbridge's eyes roiling with hate as she did so.

'Not so fun when you're on the receiving end, is it?' Vergil mocked, noting the Toad's badge listed her name and the words 'Convict', whereas Hagrid's and his own had 'Witness' listed under their names.

_"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."_ The cool female voice droned, the floor of the telephone box shuddering as the pavement rose up past its glass windows, the street sliding out of sight as blackness closed over their heads and with a dull grinding noise they sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

A chink of soft golden light hit their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies. Vergil gripped Yamato, cursing the cramped conditions and readied himself to summon some spectral swords as he peered through the glass to see whether anybody was waiting for them in the Atrium, only to see Dumbledore chatting with what appeared to be Shacklebolt, and several other Aurors, who were reading the prisoners their rights and searching them over for their wands.

_"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening,"_ said the woman's voice, the door of the telephone box bursting open, Vergil stepping primly out of it, followed closely by a relieved looking Hagrid and McGonagall, the son Of Sparda getting his first proper look at the Centre of the British Wizarding World.

They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them, from which a Witch or Wizard would emerge from every few seconds like clockwork, while on the right-hand side, short queues of wizards were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblins hat and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.

"Ah, right on time." Dumbledore greeted, smiling at them as they approached, Kingsley and his men looking up, eyes widening at the sight of te restrained Umbridge "If you would be so kind as to escort Ms. Umbridge to a proper holding cell, Auror Shacklebolt, I believe we can find our way to Madam Bones' office ourselves."

'The old man's ENJOYING this.' Vergil realized, noticing the tell-tale twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as Umbridge was hauled off by two burly Aurors 'Then again, I suppose when you get to his age, dragging other people's dirty laundry out into the open is as good as it gets.'

"This way, Professors." Shaklebolt instructed, the Auror turning to face them with a professional mask, which didn't quite hide his look of amusement "Madam Bones should be in her office, thankfully the Minister is in a meeting with the Wizengamot at the moment…"

"No doubt trying to pass yet another of his delightful Educational decrees." Dumbledore noted, twinkling manically, the look on his face so innocent Vergil couldn't help but snort, even McGonagall's lips twitching as they fell in behind the Auror. As they walked along, Vergil's eyes flicked constantly from side to side, taking in the numerous wizards around them warily, looking for any of Umbridge's supporters.

After all, if the woman had been able to muster up six companions, no matter how inept, in an attempt to spirit Hagrid away, who was to say there weren't MORE?

As they passed the fountain, a glint of silver and bronze caught Vergil's attention, the Son of Sparda pausing briefly to read the sign at the side of the fountain, before carrying on his way, determined to catch up to the others, following them to a desk to the left of the golden gates, where a badly shaven wizard in peacock blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet. "Hello there Kingsley." The guard greeted, his eyes roaming over the group with a look on suspicion that was normal for those on guard duty "What's this then?"

"I'm escorting these people to Madam Bones," Shacklebolt revealed, his tone calm "It would seem they've come to lodge a complaint regarding Dolores Umbridge."

"Who hasn't?" the man muttered, and Vergil felt his liking of the man go up, just a little mind you, the man gesturing for them to come closer, passing a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial over their front and back. "Wands." He grunted, holding out his hands expectantly, Dumbledore and McGonagall willing handing them over, only for him to frown at Vergil and Hagrid "Well?"

"I'm afraid, due to a misunderstanding, that Hagrid no longer possesses a wand." Dumbledore supplied, his tone polite, though Vergil caught a look of anger in the man's eyes even as Hagrid tightened his grip on his pink umbrella's handle "And as for Professor Vergil, he does not NEED one."

* * *

_Guard's pov..._

The guard blinked, turning to look at Vergil, his eyes going down to the sword in the half-devil's hands, flicking back up to demand he hand it over, only to flinch, reconsidering immediately at the look in Vergil's eyes.

'Fudge ain't paying me enough for this.' He muttered, instead putting Dumbledore and McGonagall's wands on the scales, as was protocol 'sides, nobody ever checked that Axe Macnair was always lugging around…'

So saying, he wrote up the wands details, before returning them to their respective owners, offering them a polite nod before going back to his newspaper pointedly ignoring the cold eyes of Vergil as the man strode past, though he felt a chill race down his spine in the process.

* * *

_Normal Pov... _

Wands reclaimed, Shacklebolt led them into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles, the Auror pushing his way to the front of the shortest cue, commandeering the lift on 'Ministry Business', the group sidling in without a word, the grilles slamming shut as Kingsely hit the button, sending them Onwards and upwards, the only sound the rattling of the lift chains, before the same cool female voice from the telephone box rang out again.

_"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."_

"This is it." Shacklebolt revealed, more for Vergil's benefit than anyone else, the group following the man out into a corridor lined with doors "Madam Bones' office is this way."

"Lead on, Kingsley." Dumbledore insisted, eyes-a-twinkle as they moved through the halls briskly, Vergil eyeing the doorways warily, still on the lookout for a sneak attack. He kept this up right up until they'd arrived at an ornate door with the name 'Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement.' Engraved on a plaque.

"Come in." a female voice called out, the door opening, allowing Vergil to get his first glance of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, who turned out to be a middle-aged, square-jawed witch with a monocle and a serious expression "Ah Dumbledore…I've been expecting you…" she turned to the others "I see you didn't waste time…if anything you're EARLY."

"I believe that the sooner we get this formality out of the way, the less Cornelius will need to worry himself over." Dumbledore twinkled, earning a wry, grudging smirk from Vergil "After all, he's so busy lately."

"Busy making my life hell." Madam Bones muttered, scowling in annoyance "I hope you understand that by delaying my presence at the Wizengamot means I'll have less chance to refute some of those ridiculous edicts he's been throwing around?"

"Then let us not keep you." Dumbledore insisted, his features turning serious "Have you everything you require?"

Madam Bones quirked a brow, as if to ask the headmaster 'who do you take me for?' before getting to her feet, pulling out a quill which hovered over a roll of parchment without her having to hold it, before pulling out a large, silver bowl filled with water. "Start record." She ordered, pointing her wand at the quill, which began to move as she spoke "Witness Testimony of the Incident involving Chief Ministry Undersecretary Delores Umbridge, overseen by Amelia Susan Bones, Head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

'It's like one of those recording sessions they do during crime shows.' Vergil noted, impressed at how far wizards were read to go without using technology, even as Madam Bones turned her attention to them, asking them to recount their tales 'Something tells me that by the end of today, Fudge isn't going to be very happy.'

* * *

Indeed he isn't.

Sorry if it comes off as short, but I figured Fudge's beatdown deserved a chapter in and of itself.


End file.
